


Children of Krypton

by The_Necroposter



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Free Will, Freedom, Friendship, Gen, Philosophy, Religious Discussion, Revolution, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8412607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Necroposter/pseuds/The_Necroposter
Summary: Krypton's society is heavily regulated in every way: population, beliefs, culture. Everyone's lives are pre-determined. There is no room for creativity, for chance, for change. Not everyone is willing to accept this, though. Whilst some factions plot revolution, other individuals unintentionally become entangled in events that will not only wreck their lives, but change the face of Krypton forever.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Only my OCs are my property. Anything related to DC comics, the DCEU, Man of Steel, the character of Superman etc. is property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from this work. 
> 
> As I did with my Twilight spitefic, I will end this story with an afterword explaining my inspirations and motivation. Just let it be said that this is not a spitefic. I like the DCEU a lot and I loved the Krypton sequence in Man of Steel. There's a lot of potential in what little we got to know of that world, and I would like to explore that. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy it, too.
> 
> This story is on hiatus, but will be continued in the near future. I haven't given up on it. Life just got in the way of my writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story is on hiatus. It has not been abandoned.

 

**Far off, the deep, grumbling boom of a scout ship breaking the sound barrier blasts across the landscape.** Lights search the coppery sky. There’s a blaring siren. How close? Impossible to tell. The sound bounces off the craggy hillside and echoes, multiplies, confuses.

They’re searching for them. They’re searching, relentlessly searching, and they’re getting closer.

Something is clear by now: they are never going to stop.

It’s night-time, but it’s not particularly dark. The sky is clear. Spring’s on the way. The four moons are clearly visible above the agitated, black sea. It’s cold – freezing. The last vestiges of the iciest winter in decades. Both fugitives are on the ground, the lowest levels between Silten Hill and Teklon, where there are still streets to walk on, on foot – Kandor’s underbelly, far away from the Citadel and the AH and all those lofty buildings high up in the hills, from which Krypton’s future is decided.

They have rid themselves of all technology, hurrying along on ancient, broken, cobbled streets in nothing but the clothes on their backs. Their steps echo loudly, reverberating, hitting old buildings and lower hills and bouncing around like projectiles. For those who live in the upper strata of society, it’s sometimes hard to remember that people live down here, people with lives and problems and struggles that are real and tangible and so far removed from the affairs of the high and mighty and-

No. No time for that. No time.

The streets are weirdly empty; the area’s inhabitants are sticking to themselves, hiding in the deepest shadows. Upper-class people are trawling their home. Better to stay out of the way. Better not to be seen.

She wraps her thick coat closer around her body, pulls the hood over her face. As she’s been doing so often lately, she hugs herself around her torso, protecting her midsection – the midsection of doom, he likes to joke, a note of high panic in his voice. It’s not funny. It’s never been funny, but by now she knows him well enough to understand that he needs to joke, constantly joke, because otherwise, the world might crush what little is left of him.

She overthinks everything. He jokes. Everyone copes in their own way.

He is by her right, hurrying along laboriously, breathing hard. It’s not so much that he’s out of shape. He just isn't used to being on the run, literally on the run, for hours days weeks eternities. Not only the body gets tired. At some point, the mind reaches its breaking point, too. Not even four months, and both their minds are even wearier than their bodies.

She knows that he’ll only give up once he’s run himself ragged, once all his resistance has been stripped away from him. It can happen. Before all this business started, she never thought to question this kind of thing, to question her own resolve, to ask herself what might be too much for her to handle. These past few months, she has had much time to think – too much. Thinking is dangerous. It leads to questions and ideas. It leads to unrest. It might even lead to change, and that, on Krypton, is a capital offense.

It’s heresy, plain and simple. Plain and simple.

They turn a corner into a small alley, flanked by run-down, metal-coated buildings. Some lights are turned off, shutters closed frantically. She doesn’t blame the people. Word got out. They know that danger has been brought to them. She’d be afraid, too. Her heart is hammering, her stomach in constant knots. The linings in her throat are being slowly eaten away by heartburn.

Fear has a way of eating away at everything – strength, sleep, peace of mind, confidence, and even love.

That’s when it happens: blue light hits them square in the face, punching their retinas, flooding the entire area. The deep, rumbling roar of assault choppers fills the humid and salty air. Both of them stop dead in their tracks. He takes her hand. Her stomach lurches. She is freezing, paralysed. This is it. There’s nowhere left to run. They tried. They lost. She turns to her right, sees the panic in his huge eyes, the wind in his hair, the tension in his shoulders. Rao help him, he still believes they stand a chance.

She tries to smile but can’t. That’s something she always sucked at, as the vernacular goes. Taking his other hand, she mouths, “I’m sorry,” because over the roar of the choppers’ engines, he isn't able to hear her. “It’s over. We’ve lost.”

They hug each other closely, as if it’s the end of the world. In a way, it is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A potentially game-changing discovery is made close to Kandor, Krypton's capital. Several factions vow to get hold of what's inside. Some would kill to implement change, others would do it to keep things the same.

 

**1** **Illura Dom-Linn stood in the shadows of the rock-face overseeing the Borok Hill excavation site.** Winter was on the way, and it was raining, always raining. She was soaked to her skin despite her thick wool coat, and chilled to the bone. Down the rocky hillside stood the immobilised digging machines that had originally been brought to burrow their way deep into the planet’s centre. After what the exploration drones had found, however, the machines had been stopped and authorities notified. The Law Council hadn't sent their goons, yet, but just watching the excitement of the Labourer Guild tech supervisors as they realised what it was they had discovered told Illura everything she needed to know. They’d found the temple. Their scans would find the machine. That couldn’t happen. It must not happen. If the Law Council and their lackeys got their hands on the machine, then it would mean the end for Krypton. They would not think so, of course, especially the head scientist from the House of El. No, he’d be hell-bent on digging up all the secrets once buried under the rockslide. He’d want to explore what had been lost, for the good of all Kryptonians.

Just thinking about the speeches that tepid Jor-El would be making, touting the benefits of scientific exploration as progress, made Illura feel sick to her stomach. The problem wasn’t that El was a bad person. The problem was that he and the likes of him really believed that they were doing what was best for everyone. They had no idea what damage they were causing to a civilisation that was already on its knees.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, willing herself not to snort with disdain. It didn’t even matter what any of the bigwigs thought, how they felt, or if they were convinced that their actions were beneficial. In the end, all that mattered were their actions. Whatever happened, Illura and her people would do all in her power to stop them. She couldn’t fail. Too much depended on it. The entire planet depended on it. Krypton was in trouble, deep trouble, and there wasn’t much time left. Many of even Illura’s people were squeamish about using violence, and she had once shared their views. Time and experience, however, had taught her otherwise. The Law Council did not understand a different language, and sometimes, the end really did justify the means.

Desperate times and all that.

She pulled her coat’s hood even deeper over her head and went back the way she came, up the hill, between the rocks. There was work to be done.

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **Kandor wasn’t Krypton’s oldest city, but it was, in the opinion of most Kryptonians,** the most impressive one by far. Nestled between craggy Gorv Bay and the majestic, metallically glistening Jewel Mountains, it was comprised mostly of copper-coloured, dome-and-spire topped building complexes built into the slopes of the sky-high, ragged mountain rage. Over Kandor, the sky was eerily pale, a light bronze flecked with patches of very light blue, but Krypton’s four moons were visible better than from any other part of the planet, even the azure-blue skies of Dunol island.

Whatever anyone might think of the city’s aesthetics, it was Krypton’s capital, and most of the planet’s wealth and power were based there. It was also rather difficult to administrate, as it not only housed the Law Council, but also all major governmental institutions, from the Warrior Guild to the Artisan Guild. The Law Council ruled Krypton, but the city’s affairs were dealt with by the Administrator, and for the past five years, that position had been occupied by forty-year-old Kalan Val-Ris, daughter of former Administrator Aya Lon-Dar and military commander Val-Ris. Kalan had, as so many generations of her ancestors, been born and bred to be Administrator of Kandor, and she enjoyed the work, despite its rather high demands. Her mother had stepped down from the post to let Kalan take over; her father had unexpectedly lost his life a year ago during the botched attempt to recover equipment from a broken world engine that had been rotting away on one of Krypton’s many abandoned colonies.

It was a challenging duty, making sure that Kandor ran smoothly, but not only had Kalan been trained for this all her life, she understood that she was only a small part of a huge machinery. If she worked as part of a whole, if she did what she was supposed to, then she contributed to improving the whole that was Kryptonian society. This was a soothing, comforting notion.

Of course, it didn’t mean that sometimes, the daily grind of her work could not be wearisome, at least a little…even though her peers and superiors had little tolerance for complainers. Kalan understood that. It was an opinion she shared. There was no need to complain, anyway – not really. Her life was picture-perfect: she had her duty, her assigned husband, her esteemed colleagues and friends, her interests. Next year, she and Dom would receive their first child, a girl they would name Liora, and who would one day follow her father’s footsteps as a military officer in charge of defending the people of Krypton against any and all threats. Two years later, a boy – Aren – would follow, and he’d one day take over Kalan’s position. That was the beauty of Kryptonian life: everything was planned according to what was best for the planet and its inhabitants. Many centuries ago, the Council had decided to regulate all aspects of life on Krypton, and by doing that, they had saved it.

Kalan knew that not everyone agreed; her esteemed colleague Jor-El, for instance, had some misgivings about the lack of creative choice Kryptonians had, even though he understood that society had grown stagnant and decadent before the changes were implemented. His objections were purely academic, though, since he himself performed his own duties admirably and didn’t, to anyone’s knowledge, actually harbour any seditious intent. Of course he didn’t. He was a scientist. It was part of his job to think critically. Everyone understood.

The reason she was thinking about any of this and about Jor-El’s strange musings at all on this cold, drizzly morning, was because he had contacted her via comm to ask her to get to work earlier than usual; he had stumbled upon something he wanted to share with her. Therefore, she told Dom to go back to sleep, got ready, and took the tram to the Administration Hub an hour early (no need to waste energy by using the family hover). It was raining – winter was barely a month away at this point – and the air was clammy and cold. She didn’t really mind, even though she’d always preferred the summers. It never got too hot in Kandor due to the height and the nearby ocean, but the days lasted longer and the sky was clear more often. Almost every night, one could look up at the stars and dream about what life must have been like in one of Krypton’s many abandoned off-world colonies. Such ruminations were, of course, a waste of time, and they made her somewhat melancholy, but at times, in the summer, she indulged them all the same.

Autumn and winter had a different effect on her. The skies were mostly clouded for months on end; it rained a lot. Somehow, this made her feel as if Krypton were a little self-contained sphere in a sea of emptiness – a living snow-globe, as it were. The summertime melancholia was far away, being replaced by a sense of practicality and no-nonsense. That was what life was supposed to be like, anyway, even though thinking about the summer nights tended to make her feel a little wistful. Sometimes, emotions and longings made no sense. That was what logic and rationality were for. That was what the life-plan meticulously designed for every Kryptonian alive and yet to be born was for. People tended to get lost in themselves, in their feelings, in their irrational desires. That must not be. Society had to function perfectly. Every single person owed this to everyone else – to the greater good.

The tram stopped right in front of the building. Kalan stepped on the platform gingerly; the rain had turned into sleet and the ground was a little slippery. She pulled the hood of her coat over her head, crossed her arms, and weaved her way through the rather large crowd of people to the huge, domed building’s front doors. Inside the lobby, she immediately relaxed. The air was warm and dry and felt heavenly. The top floor, with the Law Council Chamber, actually had retractable bulkheads for walls in some places, allowing a panoramic view of the ragged, hilly landscape and the dark beach, but the lower levels of the A.H. were closed off completely for security reasons alone.

After pulling the hood down, sorting out her short, blonde, curly hair as best she could, and nodding to the receptionist on duty, she took the lift up to the nineteenth story, where her as well as Jor-El’s offices were located. Not so long ago, he’d been a Law Council member, but had stepped down because he wanted to focus on his scientific research rather than planetary administration. That was what he claimed, at least. Kalan didn’t doubt that there was some truth to this, but she also knew that there had been tensions between him and some of the other Council members, particularly Lor-Em. The best way to put such differences aside, if neither party was willing to change their minds, was to agree to disagree. That way, everyone was happy, and the administration of Krypton could go on without a hitch.

In the lift, she ran into Mal-Venn, Dom’s brother, which was a surprise, since he worked for the Warrior Guild and not for Administration. His workplace was on the other side of Kandor, on the side of Tryon Hill.

When he saw her squirm her way inside the crowded, dimly lit lift, he called her over the heads of several other people. “Kalan! You on your way to see the dreamer?”

Well. That. Jor-El got all kinds of slightly condescending to outright hostile comments, from people of all departments of public service. It wasn’t as if he were generally unpopular, but of course, someone with the tendency to ask questions like Jor-El was prone to do would always draw in his share of detractors. It was quite unavoidable.

Instead of voicing any of this, because most thoughts should be kept to oneself, she wriggled through the small crowd of early birds and planted herself right next to her brother-in-law. “You know what this is about.”

A grin spread across his angular, handsome features. He was only a little taller than she was, so he didn’t have to bend down much to whisper in her ear, “Oh, yes, and you, little sister, are going to love it.” What was _with_ his giddiness, or even the over-the-top secrecy? Mal had a taste for the dramatic, that was true, but there was definitely something going on.

“I’ll report back to you on that,” she said, as the door slid open once the lift reached the right level.

“I’m on my way to the top,” he called after her when she walked out.

When she turned, she could see him grinning as the door slid shut. Curious. This was definitely curious. Had he only meant that literally? What did any of this have to do with Jor-El’s request? Was she seeing patterns and hidden meanings where there were none, again? Telling herself to curb her natural tendency to let her thoughts wander, she took a deep breath, headed down the corridor, and let the liquid geo station scan her face when she reached the thick, heavy metal door at the far end.

“Welcome, Kalan Val-Ris,” the security system’s flat, female-sounding voice greeted her. The door slid open with its usual hydraulic hum.

Gingerly, she stepped inside. It was a nice office: relatively big, with curved walls and high windows overlooking the hills and valleys stretching out as far as the ragged ocean shore. On the far end was a heavy, bronze-coloured desk that had a detailed map of the continent engraved on its surface. Jor-El was sitting in front of it, studying a moving liquid geo display moving before his eyes, a thoroughly fascinated expression on his pleasant face.

She opened her mouth to voice a greeting, but then she saw what he was studying, what the geo was displaying, and stopped dead in her tracks. This couldn’t be. It was…oh, if this was what she believed it to be, then…then…there were no words. No words. This was _amazing_. Spectacular. Mind-blowing.

“Is that a _temple_?” Her voice was small and quiet because she forgot to suppress her awe. Eyes wide, she slowly, hesitantly approached the desk, staring at the display: it showed a partially collapsed, dome-shaped structure, half-buried under what must have once been an enormous landslide.

The display showed a massive, circular chamber harbouring an altar and several objects she could not identify. The architecture, however, was unmistakeable. This was a temple dedicated to Rao, the sun-god, testament of a religious cult that had died out millennia ago when Krypton entered its Age of Enlightenment. Rumours had it that there were still pockets of believers spread out across the globe, but that was neither here nor there. Right now, it didn’t matter. That was an academic question. This here was tangible reality.

“It is,” Jor-El said, equally reverential, watching the display move to show what had been found from different angles. “One of the digging drones discovered it yesterday. It’s being freed of rubble as we speak.”

Ah, yes, the digging drones. They were meant to probe the planet’s core in order to test whether tapping it could result in a new energy source to end the growing, worldwide crisis. The fact that Jor-El mentioned the drones and didn’t start speechifying about how doomed to disaster the whole enterprise was showed how much this new discovery daunted him.

“Where?” Her legs felt like rubber. She had to brace herself against the cool, sharp, smooth edge of the table.

“Borok Hill.” Finally, he looked up to lock eyes with her. “It still falls under your jurisdiction.”

Slowly, carefully, she pulled up a chair and dropped herself on it. Her head was spinning. Mal had been right with his assessment. “I…” That was when it dawned on her, and she decided to look at Jor-El – to really look at him. He was at awe, too, but also very eager to have her be in charge of this extraordinary discovery. The wheels in his brain were clearly turning despite his wonderment. “What are you really after, Jor?”

The corners of his mouth were twitching slightly. “Var-El’s engine.”

Her eyes grew even wider. “You can’t be serious.”

“See this here?” He pointed at a relatively large, eight-pointed object that looked like it was suspended inside a cubical structure. “It’s at least a model, and the time period’s right, too. This could be _it_ , Kalan. This could be the answer to all of our problems.” After a short pause, he added, “This could be the start of a revolution.”

For a moment, she had no idea what to say to that. Her heart beat faster, her stomach cramped, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh despite the fact that her face was hot. Gathering herself, breathing deeply, she made herself relax. The muscles in her shoulders had started to knot already. “One thing after the other,” she said, her voice a little shaky.

“But will you grant me access?”

She nodded curtly. “I will.”

A warm smile lit up his pleasant face. “Good. Thank you. If I’m right, you’re doing Krypton a favour that cannot ever be repaid.”

“Like I said: one thing after the other.”

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **Word spread quickly. Digging drones designed to find a way to the core had discovered something startling** – something perilous: a very large, very old temple dedicated to sun-god Rao. Early reports estimated the age of the construction being over ten thousand years old. The location, architecture, and size of the structure left little room for doubt: this had to be _the_ temple, the religious hub where all of the Cult’s planet-wide activity had once been coordinated from when society had still been under the thumb of those fanatical zealots. A long time ago, these fundamentalists had been put in their place, and Kryptonian society had been freed from the nonsensical rule of religious oppression. There were those that argued that not much had changed, that Krypton was now ruled with the iron fist of the Council’s regulation laws instead of the Cult of Rao, but that was nonsense. The regulations were necessary for the protection of Krypton, her people, and her culture. Religion, however, was only a means of oppression. One couldn’t argue with a believer. No matter what rational arguments a person might present, religious types always countered that with how faith didn’t need to be explained, which was a meaningless soundbite.

Faora-Ul never wasted much time pondering whether some of the people arguing for the liberalisation of anti-cultist laws might have a point or not. She never questioned her own convictions. She never asked herself whether the religious had a right to believe as they pleased. Perhaps they did. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all. The law was the law, and everything was designed for the good of the people – the greater good. Everyone had their place in society; filling anyone’s head with notions of supernatural entities and ideas of luck and fate and deliverance as granted by a god was counter-productive at best, dangerous at worst. What if someone decided that their chosen deity wanted them to abandon their post and do something else entirely? What about the Cult of Rao’s belief that procreation was sacred and blessed by Rao and should happen naturally, i.e. at random? Nothing could be predicted anymore, should that be allowed. Everyone would have an excuse to be selfish and petty, and claiming that this would be detrimental to society was the understatement of the era.

There was nothing wrong with honouring tradition, with upholding cultural icons that had helped shape Kryptonian society into what it was today. Having an academic interest in Krypton’s superstitious past made sense. Using iconography and even names from long-forgotten and outlawed belief systems was respectful and even admirable.

Trying to revive a religious creed that could topple all of Krypton’s many social and cultural achievements? That was not tolerable in the slightest.

As a lieutenant working at the Kryptonian Armed Forces HQ, she was part of the unit charged with keeping civil unrest at bay. Many of the A.H. employees had no idea that there was, in fact, still a Cult of Rao around, and that these people had many sympathisers amongst the general populace. That was something Faora simply could not understand. How could anyone choose to follow this irrational, chaotic path that led to an unpredictable, bleak future that completely robbed people of their own agency? How could anyone place their faith in something so elusive and intangible, something with no practical use whatsoever? How could anyone wilfully choose to be _blind_?

Again, this was a matter of academic debate, because in the end, the question of ‘why’ was of no consequence. The only thing that mattered was the law, because the law protected Krypton. Protecting Krypton was in Faora’s genetic code, and she would rather die than betray what was her greatest purpose in life. This was the reason she existed, after all, and there was nothing more important than fulfilling one’s pre-determined destiny. She owed it to her people, but also to herself to have a meaningful existence, to give as much as she could, to fulfil her duties to the best of her abilities. That was what Kryptonian society had evolved into, and if she knew one thing, it was that evolution always won.

An acquaintance had once asked her whether she did not see that this faith in Krypton, in upholding the order of things was just as fanatical as religious creed, just as inflexible. Well, of course it was. The difference was, in her mind, that her faith was justified. Krypton really was better off heavily regulated. All the former independent territories had been united. War had been eliminated. Urban violence was at an all-time low. There were no religious conflicts, no riots over different forms of government, no time or resources were being wasted over young people not knowing what to do with their lives. Everyone had their place. Everyone was useful. The planet turned, and society thrived. That was how Krypton was supposed to be. That was what those faithful to the homeland would fight to protect until they could fight no longer.

The Armed Forces HQ was located close to the House of El’s ancient fortress, the Citadel. The building that housed the Warrior Guild had been hewn into the rock of Tryon Hill millennia ago, and it was built to last. Inside the structure were several well-protected levels housing the different departments and units. There was a lot of surveillance that needed to be sorted, as well as all the intersectional work with the Law Council and all the other A.H. departments. The good thing was, there was far less bureaucracy than in all other governmental agencies. As the lieutenant general’s adjutant, Faora had her own office, but she spent much of her time in her section’s HQ bullpen, where she could have an eye on general operations and on her subordinates. It was important to keep close to those working with and around oneself; she’d learned that from the boss, and she always listened to what he had to say.

News of the incredible discovery had reached her almost twelve hours ago, and naturally, she had not left her station or got any sleep since then. The implications of the most prominent temple of the Cult of Rao being dug up were too grave, the consequences unpredictable. That was the biggest problem, wasn’t it? This could mean nothing, but it could also mean everything. There was no telling. There was no _knowing_. The boss was on the other side of the planet and would only return in a few days, so Faora was going to do what could be done under the circumstances: stay ahead of the situation, help stem the flow of information to the public, and contain anyone who might be a threat to Krypton.

She stood in front of a display screen, watching the excavation site, watching the Security Patrol officers who were securing the location and protecting it from potentially prying eyes (onlookers were unlikely up there on Borok Hill, but there was always a risk) and trespassers. “Has the Law Council made a decision yet?” she said to the technician who was monitoring the feed.

The young man, who was clad in the dark-blue suit denoting his low military rank but high-level technical specialisation, checked his console and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It’s just been determined that Administrator Val-Ris will be in charge of the excavation.”

Faora straightened her posture and folded her hands behind her back. How was she supposed to feel about that? Kalan Val-Ris was a loyal citizen and a competent professional, but she was definitely lacking in spine. For one, she never seemed at all willing to make tough calls. Another point of contention was the fact that she was close friends with Jor-El. One could argue that the same was true of the boss, but ever since Jor-El had been forced to step down from the Law Council, that particular friendship had cooled off considerably. Jor-El had just publicly uttered too many seditious remarks.

“I’ll be at the A.H.,” she told the technician, turned around on her heels, and marched away. There was damage control to be exerted. Whatever would be found in the temple, it could not get in the hands of those who might wish the existing order harm – and by that, endanger the people of Krypton.

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **Kalan got home late in the evening.** She and Dom shared a house on the slopes of Tryon Hill, the Citadel visible from the living area’s big windows and balcony. It was always a beautiful sight, during springtime and summer, to watch the sun set over the mountain range, it’s red glare glinting off of the mighty construction’s bronze-coloured dome. Dom liked to tease her for getting in the mood for purple prose every time she saw something she deemed beautiful, but he didn’t mean to be hurtful. It was just his way of conveying that he had difficulties with sentimentality. She always told him that her parents used to have identical conversations, only with reversed roles. They complemented each other well like that, Kalan and Dom.

When she got home, he was still at work. His way there was short; the Armed Forces HQ was just around the hill. She walked in the door, got rid of her coat and boots, went through the dimly lit, almost cavernous living area, and entered her workshop. After donning protective coveralls, she set to work on what Dom half-jokingly called her masterpiece, whilst she herself had dubbed it the bane of her existence: a one-square-metre big, highly intricate mosaic depicting the starry sky as seen from Dunol Island during the summer. She’d been working on this thing for five years, now, on and off, getting relatively far, then dismantling it again only to start over and over.

There was such a thing as too much perfectionism, especially for someone who was not part of the Artisan Guild, Dom always told her. He wasn’t the only one, either. Everyone understood her wish to pursue non-work-related pastimes, but the amount of effort and time she poured into mosaics and puzzles bordered on the obsessive. She knew that. Winter was on the doorstep, however, and there was no watching the stars during winter.

The sky as seen from Dunol Island was the most enthralling thing: dark-blue, sprinkled with stars, it made everyone who’d stare up at it feel as if they were just a tiny part of a huge universe filled with light and life and unknown wonders. It made people think of Krypton’s expansionist past, of the times when their ancestors had been fearless explorers who conquered the stars. That was all gone, now, but the constellations remained. Watching them gave people a sense of perspective; it gave Kalan a sense of perspective. That was why she was so bent on recreating the vista perfectly: even though she could hardly ever visit Dunol, she would always have a piece of it in her Kandor home.

Tomorrow, a representative of the Artisan Guild living in Erkol would arrive in Kandor; he’d be in charge of evaluating and restoring the relics that would undoubtedly be found: the altar, artefacts, frescos etc. It was said that there were magnificent pre-Enlightenment mosaics on the temple walls. There was no way to be sure unless one saw it with one’s own eyes; all official documents pertaining to the temple’s interior had been lost during the Eradication Days.

She stood in front of her workstation, pressing one hand to her aching back and wiping sweat off her forehead with the other. The discovery was truly remarkable no matter what they might find inside the structure, especially if Jor-El was right about his ancestor’s energy-generating machine. Kalan herself didn’t put too much faith in it, seeing as the fabled artefact had only ever been rumoured to exist on paper, but she was all-too happy to indulge him. He was a great scientist who worried constantly about Krypton’s energy reserves. If she could do anything to help, she would. Mostly, she was just looking forward to stepping into that temple, breathing in the air, seeing the testament of a part of her culture that had died many generations ago. It would be remarkable. No matter what they’d find in there, she was utterly convinced that it would be a thing of pure beauty.

 

* * *

 

 

**5** **“Are you sure that it’s Var-El’s engine?”** Lara Lor-Van was sitting at the centuries-old dinner table, leaned back in her chair, a goblet of green wine in her hand. She watched her husband calmly, a level expression on her face. “Seems almost like speculative fiction come to life. Maybe you really are as much of a dreamer as everyone says.”

“Maybe,” he said, smiling slightly. He always had that slightly reverential look on his face when they were alone together, like he could hardly believe how lucky he was to have someone like her be destined to be his wife.

“But you don’t think so.”

“No. I believe I’m onto something. This might not be the machine itself, but a model, maybe – a prototype, even. I don’t know.” He leaned toward her slightly, reached out, and took her free hand into his. “If I’m right, I can stop the Council’s plans. We’ll have all the energy we need.”

“And an excuse to return to the stars,” she said, unable to keep herself from returning his smile. Sometimes, she liked to tease him by feigning nonchalance in face of his enthusiasm for scientific breakthroughs, but it was difficult. She didn’t know many people who were as passionate about their profession as he was, even after over two decades of service.

His own smile broadened. “Yes.”

“Hm,” she made, and sipped her wine. “Not everyone will agree that this discovery means opportunity. Some will think it a threat.”

“I know.” He let go of her hand, leaned back, and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. “I’ll deal with that when it happens.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “With them.”

“Whatever change does happen,” she said calmly, thoughtfully, “we need to be there to ease the transition. That will mean confronting those who would stomp these changes into the ground in the name of duty.” She waited, but he said nothing and wouldn’t meet her eyes. Feeling strangely heavy, she said, “Even people you’ve always thought of as friends.”

After a moment, he faced her again. He was trying to smile, but it looked pained. “I assure you, I will rise to the occasion.”

Just looking at him like that, just listening to his voice made her feel warm, light, and at peace with herself and her troubled world. It was her turn to lean in his direction and cover his hand with hers. “You always do.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People decide to take action to either defend the order of things or challenge it. There's a saboteur about to wreak havoc. The plot thickens!

 

**1** **Acts of sabotage against the State were capital offenses, punishable in many nasty ways.** That could go from regular imprisonment to imprisonment in the Phantom Zone, the most horrifying fate of all. The act of sabotage the Insider had planned was of the greatest order. It was necessary, too. The situation on Krypton had become unbearable. There was no room for creativity, for choice. There was no room to _breathe_. Yes, the planet was at peace, at least on a surface level. The price, however, was too damn high. That was why people like the Insider were needed. The risk to one’s personal safety was enormous, but that wasn’t important. All that mattered was the mission.

The Insider entered the Armed Forces HQ early in the morning, trying very hard not to let show any apprehension (thundering heart cold hands roiling stomach rubbery legs oh this was bad so bad). It was fairly easy to go through the security check, enter the complex, and head for the lift that led to the upper levels. The lift doors opened and – oh, shit! – out stepped Faora-Ul, head held high and looking like she was on her way to execute someone. The Insider casually stepped behind a few of the other people waiting to board the lift. There was nothing unusual about the Insider’s presence here. No-one with authorisation caught any attention if they didn’t behave in a suspicious way.

Trying to keep one’s breathing calm was hard work, but doable, as was stepping into the lift, nodding, and smiling at a few familiar faces. The Insider exited on the third level – technical maintenance. The level was divided into a number of small offices. Other than was the case with the bullpen, the technicians working here needed absolute privacy, since the entire (highly classified) database was handled from this part of the complex. Security was tight; it had to be.

The tricky part was getting anywhere without triggering the identification mechanisms, and therefore, security. The Insider was allowed to be on this level, which was the entire point; the operation would not have been sanctioned otherwise. What needed to be prevented from happening, however, was the Insider’s face being scanned by the liquid geo protecting the mainframe, which would be logged. Once the security status was set to amber, whoever had logged into the mainframe at the time of the attack would be identified as the saboteur inside of a second. The Insider headed for their own office door, triggered the geo, got inside – so far, so good.

First, the internal security network had to be tricked via data key. Then, the cameras in the corridor needed to be disabled. That was when the plan itself would get implemented: the data key would scramble the sensors and make it impossible for anyone to find out who had started the chain of events from where. The Insider would have three minutes to leave their office, slip into the mainframe chamber, and plant the virus. The virus would briefly disable the dampening field around the complex and allow the person waiting outside to download the database – relevant parts of it, at least. This would only work if there was no-one in the mainframe at that precise moment. It would only work if no random scans were being done. It would only-

There was no time for this. No time for this. No time.

The Insider took a deep, shaky breath, eyes closed. This would work. It had to. It would.  

Now was show-time.

No hesitation. No second thoughts. This was make or break. The Insider sat down, pulled the data key from the cuff-pocket, and connected it to the terminal.

 

* * *

**2** **When Faora got to the Administration Hub,** she was made to wait only to find that Administrator Val-Ris had already left for a string of budget meetings or something of that ilk, and wouldn’t return until the next day. Wasting almost half an hour waiting uselessly was, admittedly, a little irritating. No matter. Official measures regarding the excavation would only be taken the following morning, anyway, as protocol demanded. No, she’d come here to find out what exactly was known, and to whom. The flow of information had to be contained, but these civilian types never quite grasped the necessity of keeping things that were need-to-know from the general population. If the people knew what dangers they faced on a daily basis, how stability on Krypton was threatened by malcontents and dissidents, they’d cower in fear and the entire planet would grind to a halt.

Needless to say, that must not happen.

As soon as the bureaucrats allowed her to, she took one of the lifts up to the top story, the one that housed the Council Chamber. The Council members themselves would not see a lowly lieutenant unless they had no other choice, even if her position outweighed her actual rank by much. She had no interest in them, but in their spokeswoman, who happened to be Administrator Val-Ris’s little sister, Ro. She caught her hurrying down the corridor as if she were running away from something, a harrowed expression on her round, youthful face. She was probably just late for work.

Ro, in her hurry to get to her office, nearly collided with Faora, stopping dead in her tracks and sucking in a lungful of breath sharply. “ _Lieutenant!_ Almost knocked you over!”

Faora gave her a pointed look and then made herself smile slightly, hoping it looked friendly. It wasn’t as if she held any ill will toward this woman, but she didn’t really see the point of smiling for mere reasons of politeness. That was another thing the civilian A.H. employees irrationally valued: meaningless affability. As if that made a person more or less competent, more or less loyal. Preposterous. “Who knows about the temple?” No sense in wasting time with idle pleasantries, either.

Ro’s eyes grew wide, and she looked like she was pondering to play dumb. Finally, she nodded curtly and gave Faora a defeated look. “Apart from your people? The Council, of course, my sister, the artisan Cam-Larr, and Jor-El.” Saying the last name made her squint a little, as if she were bracing herself for oncoming hostility.

“I assume Jor-El has requested unlimited access to the site?” The cogs in Faora’s mind were turning. If her contact – Kalan Val-Ris’s brother-in-law – was right, and evidence suggested that he was, then the temple ruin contained a very valuable, very dangerous artefact. Jor-El would know. He’d want to get his hands on his ancestor’s energy-generating machine. That must not happen.

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

The muscles in Faora’s shoulders tensed up. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep from balling them into fists. How _dare_ he? How dare he claim this right without getting the Warrior Guild’s approval, first? Public security matters were their domain, and he just plain ignored this for his own selfish reasons. Doing her best to stay calm and pleasant, she said, “This is a breach of protocol. I will inform my superiors of this. Make sure that no-one else get access to any information regarding this excavation without my say-so.” Without waiting for a reply, she spun around on her heels and marched away. Heads would roll. She’d make sure of that.

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **Faora returned to Tryon Hill with the intent of monitoring the measures implemented** to prevent anyone from even chancing a peek at the excavation site. She hardly got through the HQ’s front door when she saw that something was seriously wrong. The reception area alone was crawling with soldiers; the ribbon of light circling the upper level of the hall had been switched from white to amber.

Steeling herself, she marched up to the first officer she could spot. “What happened, and why haven't I been contacted?”

“We were just about to, ma’am,” the officer, a second lieutenant, told her. He was not only pale, but also slightly greenish around the nose. “We literally _just_ became aware of it. We’re restoring security encryptions. We-”

“What _happened_?” Her voice was so cold, he luckily snapped out of his panic.

“Our database was hacked.”

She blinked at him, taken aback. “Impossible. There’s a dampening field preventing…” She trailed off when she understood. “Lock the facility down. Don’t let any word of this get out to the public. Under no circumstances can anyone find out.”

The second lieutenant frowned at her. “But what about the Council? Don’t they-”

“No-one is to find out about this. How much do the soldiers know?”

He quickly glances around himself. “Major Venn put the facility on code amber, but only three of us actually know why.”

“It’ll stay that way. Whoever leaks intel faces charges of treason.” She scrutinised his face, but saw no signs of resistance in it. Good. She’d deal with this quickly and efficiently. “Get me the lieutenant general.”

Her worst fears had turned out to be true. There was a traitor in their midst – a saboteur.

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **Over a hundred thousand years ago,** the many sovereign nations on Krypton pooled resources and set aside their differences for one common goal: to go out into the stars and discover what lay beyond their own world. What they discovered, at first, was that Krypton was only a tiny little speck of dust in an endless ocean of stars and planets and asteroids and nebulae and many, many other unbelievable phenomena. Most Kryptonians had been fascinated and daunted by what the scout ships found out there in the unknown darkness, had been enthralled with the idea of living on off-world colonies.

Most of them – not all.

The top scientists, always headed by a member of the House of El, believed that the future of Krypton was out there, in space, amongst the stars. They pushed for exploration, development, terraforming. This mind-set clashed pretty badly with the leading minds of the Cult of Rao, who argued that whatever resources spent on space travel should actually be spent on the population. They said that there were enough problems on Krypton already; those had to be solved first. This argument was countered by the scientists in question pointing out that space exploration brought technical innovation for Krypton, as well as new resources.

Whilst many agreed that both sides had a point, the newly formed Law Council decided in favour of exploration, and so, Kryptonians had made their first tentative steps into the big unknown. For some, this proved that religion made no sense anymore. For others, it proved the exact opposite. The opposing sides clashed violently from time to time, but for the most part, people lived and let live. Many millennia passed that way, and for the longest time, it looked as if Krypton were really on the way to becoming the peaceful, tolerant, progressive society that everyone wished for.

“And now, look at us,” Illura told her rather large audience.

Maybe it only seemed like that because the room they were in was miniscule and barely able to contain the two dozen people that had squeezed themselves into the badly lit, chilly, and humid space. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, however, and the long abandoned village on the slopes of Karon Hill was the only shelter they currently had. Standing by the dank rock wall, Illura spread her hands and snorted derisively. Her fingertips were numb, as were her toes. She wore her long and messy brown hair open out of sheer desperation, even though she’d rather pin it up or just chop it off. The problem was, it was extremely hard to ever get warm up here, but using too many heating units or even lighting fires might catch the Security Patrol’s drones’ attention. That would be bad, to put it mildly.

She added, “We’ve gone back to being insular, petty, small-minded, and violent. Our own attempts to just live quietly and to be left alone have failed. Now, they have found the temple.” She swallowed dryly, ignoring the flare of pain in her inflamed throat. “The time for passive resistance has come and gone. We need to start taking a more pro-active role – much more pro-active.”

“What would you have us do?” That was Korr-Onn, her oldest friend. He was sitting on a decrepit wooden chair, right in front of her. Not many people were seated, but he’d slipped on the rock-face and broken his ankle only a few days ago. Looking at him, one could hardly tell, but they’d only been able to set the bone and bandage the ankle. Only the pallor of his skin and the thin sheet of sweat on his forehead were a testament to how much pain he had to be in. “Look at us, you say. Well, I am. We’re a pitiful bunch. We’ve got nothing.”

“That’s not true,” someone else said, from the back of the room. “I know this will sound corny and trite, but we’ve got our faith, and we’ve got each other. We can pool resources and actually accomplish something. I’m on Illura’s side. We need to take a more active role to defend ourselves, our way of life.”

There were approving murmurs across the room.

“And how do you plan to accomplish it?” Korr said, forehead creased. He was speaking directly to Illura. “How do you plan to accomplish anything? We don’t have any means of stopping the dig. They’ve found the temple. They will find the engine and use it. There’s nothing we can do to stop it. I believe-”

“ _What do you suggest we do?_ ” Illura cut in sharply. She crossed her arms to stop anyone from seeing her trembling hands. Her face felt hot. Her clogged sinuses were pounding dully. “Hide further up in the mountains? Die a slow and pitiful death? Be the last pathetic remnants of a once great community?”

The look he gave her was utterly wounded. He straightened up. The muscles in his face tightened. His pupils narrowed. “You say this like retreat is shameful. If we leave, we have a chance of survival. If we do what you want, we will all die. You think the Security Patrol is the greatest threat to us? Think again. The Warrior Guild will be all over this, and you know who is in charge of enforcing security in the sector, don’t you?”

An icy shiver ran down Illura’s spine. Again, she tried to swallow. It stung so badly that she flinched. Damn cold. As well as she could, she remained composed and returned his glare. “I know that. I know what those bastards have done. You think I don’t? I do. I _still_ think we need to make a stand and finally fight for what we believe in!”

A small silence ensued. People coughed, shuffled their feet, sniffled.

Finally, a woman’s voice said, “Korr’s right. We don’t have anything to fight _with_.”

The corners of Illura’s mouth curved up in a grim little smile. “Yes, we do,” she said, her voice slightly tremulous. “We, my friends, have an ally in a high place.”

 

* * *

 

 

**5** **When Kalan got to the A.H. early the next morning,** after a long night of little sleep and much overthinking, she was surprised to find a number of people waiting for her in front of her office. Jor-El’s presence she’d expected, as well as the presence of the Artisan Guild representative. She knew his name from several restauration projects she’d had the privilege of visiting all over the planet: Cam-Larr, Erkol native and descendant of the great pre-Enlightenment artist Zora Jen-Larr. Kalan almost let her urge to tell him how honoured she felt to finally meet him get the better of her. Other people were waiting, as well, such as Lieutenant Faora-Ul and the spokesperson for the Law Council, Ro Val-Ris – Kalan’s younger sister. The latter two stood facing the former two with unhappy expressions on their faces; well, Faora looked more irritated than unhappy, but there was definitely some kind of discord in the air.

It wasn’t in any way surprising, of course, given the nature of the discovery.

Bracing herself and trying not to let show her sudden desire to walk back into the lift and just go back home, Kalan walked down the corridor and approached the quartet. “Good morning. I’m sorry I’ve kept you all waiting. Usually, I’m the one who’s at work early.” She smiled her well-rehearsed politician’s smile at each of them. It was important for an administrator to spread positivity. At first, smiling even though she might not feel like it had been strange, but apart from the fact that it was simply the polite thing to do, it was easier to hide insecurities behind a smile than a scowl. That much she had learned from her mother, the sagest of advisors.

“We are all early,” Faora said, not bothering with a friendly expression, and gave Jor-El a meaningful look. “Some of us more than others.”

“I assure you, Lieutenant, that it was not by design,” Jor-El replied, sounding tired.

Kalan let the door mechanism’s liquid geo scan her face, greet her, and grant her and her guests access to her office. It was less grand than Jor-El’s – not because her job wasn’t as important, but because it simply did not require as much room. She used to feel a little stifled in there when she first became administrator, despite the fact that it was actually pretty roomy, but had learned to ignore the feeling after a while. “Has something happened?” She planted herself in front of her heavy desk,  not sure how to proceed.

None of these people looked like they wanted to sit down, but it wouldn’t do to let the obvious tensions escalate, either.

“Yes, it has,” Faora said levelly, focussing her strikingly blue eyes on Kalan. “I-”

“Introductions, first,” Cam-Larr cut in, smiling. It looked strained. In fact, he was definitely fidgety. That wasn’t in any way surprising, either. Kalan knew how he felt. “My name is-”

“She already knows who you are,” Faora said, her voice pleasant and calm. The look she gave him, however, was pure poison. Facing Kalan again, she added, “Administrator, I came here to protest the handling of this entire matter. Why have scientists and artists been not only informed of the findings before we were, but also granted access to the digging site? This violates protocol in a shocking manner.”

“Sadly, it does,” Ro said, giving her older sister an unhappy look. She had dark rings under her bloodshot eyes, and her braided and pinned-up hair was greasy at the roots. She’d lost some weight again, too.

Kalan tried not to look too concerned. “I don’t believe any harm was meant.”

“Of course not,” Jor-El said, not quite managing to ban the edge from his voice. “Up until this morning, every and any talk about how the findings will be handled was off the record. I’m here to get official approval to visit the excavation site.”

Faora arched her thin, dark eyebrows at him. “Your intentions are irrelevant. This is a matter of planetary security, which we are responsible for.”

“Nobody would ever dream to contest this, Lieutenant,” Kalan said, refraining from leaning backwards against the edge of her desk. She had to admit, these inter-departmental tug-of-war discussions could get a little tiring, even though she knew that both sides had a right to voice their grievances. “The Security Patrol is naturally in charge of keeping every-”

“No. The Warrior Guild is.”

Kalan just stared at Faora for a couple of seconds, before letting her gaze wander across the room. Larr seemed eager to be on his way, Ro looked dead on her feet, and Jor-El…well, he seemed very close to losing his patience. She locked eyes with Faora. “Am I missing something, here?”

“This discovery goes far beyond a simple archaeological dig,” Faora replied levelly. Of everyone, she looked the most rested. Her posture was impeccable, as was her black uniform, her short dark hair, and her make-up. Not that Kalan knew her very well, but she had seldom encountered anyone with such seemingly endless energy reserves. It was to be admired. “There are forces at work that need to be contained. It’s our duty to do that. Therefore, I need you to give me and my superiors authorisation to handle security as we see fit.”

“Does that entail confiscating relics? Restraining access to the site? Banning qualified individuals? Overriding the administrator’s authorisations?” Jor-El was having obvious trouble keeping his voice calm. “Because that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Faora glanced at him briefly, before offering Kalan the subtlest hint of a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s for the greater good. I know that this is something you understand.”

“The Council has promised me full access to any and all objects of art we may find inside the temple,” Larr said, stepping up to Faora. “This is something _I_ don’t understand: why is art considered a security risk? What were you just talking about, anyway? What forces are at work? What does the military want at an ancient temple? This doesn’t make any sense.”

The hint of a smile grew broader when Faora looked him in the eye. “You do your work, artisan, and we will do ours. Your questions are, frankly, out of order, but I’m willing to ignore them for the sake of friendly cooperation.” She focussed her attention on Kalan again, who was doing her best to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. “I have the order issued by the lieutenant general on my person. Will you sign it, or do you wish me to tell him that you are unwilling to cooperate?”

“There is no need for threats,” Jor-El said quietly, eyes narrowed, shoulders set.

“I wasn’t threatening anyone.”

“Of course you weren't,” Kalan hurried to say, wishing everyone would just understand that all parties involved wanted what was best. At least that was always her go-to assumption. Allowing herself to suspect people of pursuing their own agendas in detriment of the greater good made her feel hollow and tired. If that were the case, then what was the point of anything? No. No, no, no. Oh, no, she was _not_ going to go down that road. There was too much to do and no time for useless ruminations. “I’ll sign the order. If this is an issue of planetary security, none of us will stand in your way.”

Faora briefly bowed her head. “As it should be.”

“I will want to hear details about what threat you and your superiors see,” Kalan said, knowing that Faora wouldn’t like this, but not caring. This was standard procedure, after all, and the Warrior Guild wasn’t the only faction with a right to insist on protocol. “Also, asking questions is only natural, especially since it’s highly unusual for the Warrior Guild to take such a keen interest in a mere archaeological find.”

For a moment, Faora pressed her lips together. She clasped her hands behind her back and made a visible effort to keep her features smooth. “This is no mere archaeological find. Our entire way of life may be under threat. You need to understand that whatever measures we take, however drastic, they are for Krypton’s greater good.”

“We all know that,” Ro spluttered. Her eyes darted from Faora to Jor-El, to Kalan and back again. What was going on with her? She was clearly overworked, but there was something else bothering her. “There will be no more breaches in protocol, and we will all do our best to ensure the safety of the operation. The Council has granted the administrator full authority over the excavation, and we all know what a responsible person she is.”

“Yes, we do,” Jor-El said, and took a deep, steadying breath.

Was it just Kalan’s impression, or had his attitude towards anything related to the Warrior Guild taken a rapid turn for the worse? “I’d like to have a word in private with the lieutenant, so we can get the bureaucracy out of the way.”

Everyone else exited the office without another word.

After the door slid shut behind them, Kalan circumvented her desk, took a seat, and motioned at one of the empty chairs opposite her. “Please.”

Faora complied and pulled a small data key from her cuff-pocket. “All the information you need.” She handed it over.

Kalan plugged it into the terminal and watched the liquid geo respond, rising up into the air and forming a display. She watched it for a while before her brain was able to compute what she was seeing. Her eyes grew wide. Had the temperature gone down suddenly? Her innards were in knots. Acid sloshed in her stomach. “This can’t be true.”

“I’m afraid that it is. So…can I now have your signature?”

After hastily unplugging the key, she gave Faora a curt nod. “Anything you need.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illura takes a trip into Kandor, Kalan and co. visit the excavation site for the first time, and the Insider needs to quickly find an ally.

 

**1** **Despite what the powers that be would have people believe,** there were those who were deeply dissatisfied with the all-pervading regulation of Kryptonian society. Illura couldn’t speak for any faction other than her own, but that was enough: the Cult of Rao had been all but wiped out during the Eradication, several centuries ago. Not all believers were eliminated or converted to accept the sanctioned way of life, however. Faith was like any other idea: once it had taken root, it was impossible to eradicate.

For almost two years, Illura hadn't visited Kandor, her home town. Ever since she’d been outed as a dissident, she’d fled into the hills to join like-minded people. The government regularly searched for them, but didn’t waste too many resources. After all, the Cult was dwindling, and up in the hills, they were not much of a threat. It was too time- and resources-consuming to fine-comb the territory surrounding Kandor in order to find a handful of nonconformists. Better to leave the few dozen people associated with the Cult around the capital where they were. They were isolated from the rest of the populace and slowly dying out, anyway.

Not anymore, though. Illura was sick of doing nothing but surviving, of scraping a meagre living off rocks. No more. It was time to take action, to fight for the freedom to be a part of society despite their so-called deviant beliefs. In order to achieve anything, considerable risks had to be taken. She’d been advocating a more pro-active stance for a pretty long time, but only now that the ancient temple had been discovered, were the others willing to finally get off their behinds and _do_ something. Their lives were on the line, here! It wasn’t just that, though. This was a matter of principle. Krypton had once been a place of tolerance and diversity. What was it now? A conformist, uniform, drab nightmare. The government’s logic was that too much freedom of choice bred uncertainty and idleness, that it was the root of strife and waste.

It was amazing how many people subscribed to this nonsense.

To be fair, it wasn’t as if Illura didn’t sympathise. The temptation of just giving in was almost overwhelming. There would be no doubts. There would be no fear. If she chose to follow the party line, she’d have a profession, a partner, assigned children, freedom to follow harmless pastimes. She’d be part of society and free to go wherever she wanted, untroubled by concerns of hunger and sickness and the future. It would be as easy as falling in love.

The path of least resistance had never been her style, though. Her parents and her brother always told her that she was selfish and ungrateful, that she rebelled for the sake of rebellion, in order to make herself feel special in a world where everyone was everyone else’s equal. Maybe that was true, in a sense. She did enjoy her status as dissident. Hell, she was even proud of it. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have, in her mind, legitimate reasons.

Well, wasn’t it a colossal waste of time, thinking about her family? Yes, it surely was. She had a job to do and no time for this gloomy bullshit. It only dragged her down, and she could not afford this luxury. Some people had all the time in the world to sit in a corner and sulk. That, too, was a tempting prospect – _very_ tempting, as a matter of fact. She’d be lying if she claimed never to have indulged the impulse. Okay, fine, sometimes, she still did that.  

Getting from Karon Hill down to the edge of Kandor’s underbelly wasn’t all that difficult. There were paths that wove down the slopes through rocks and crevices and precipices, all but forgotten by civilisation. It took her almost a day to get down, but in the end, she did, sweaty and shaky her throat in flames her mouth dry her head pounding. Better to ignore it. Better not to think about how dangerous physical exertion was when one was ill, when one was feverish.

An exceedingly long time ago, the first settlements close to Gorv Bay were established on the ground, between the hills and mountains and not atop them. A lot of the high-ups seemed to forget the fact that there were still hundreds of thousands of people living close to the ground. Well, they forgot until some of those lowly plebes started dancing out of line. Then, they suddenly remembered, didn’t they?

Typical.

Illura casually walked through the ancient, cobbled streets and alleys, telling herself to stop ranting inside her own head. Even if no-one else got to hear it, she still felt like a petulant, broody teenager, and that was more than a little annoying. The air was cold, getting colder every day, and it was drizzling gently. Her breath came out in white puffs. She was glad to have an excuse to pull her hood over her head and stuff her hands into the pockets of her coat. One of the tram lines went all the way out here from the core of the old town, and when she got to the station, wheezing, a five-carriage tram pulled into it. Lucky! She let herself be carried in by the flow of labourers headed for the night shifts of the factories they toiled in. All seats were soon occupied and she found herself pressed against the metal, between dozens of people who didn’t care who she was or what she was up to. The air smelled stuffy, but it was warm, and her body relaxed. Looking around, she saw mostly peaceful faces. People stood in pairs or little groups and chatted. Others were just staring blankly at nothing, lost in thought.

These were people who were content with their lives. Most of them were glad to have well-paying jobs, a place to live, an assigned partner, assigned children with pre-determined futures of their own. As a very young woman, Illura had often called such people mindless drones, but by now, she knew better than to be this dismissive, this condescending, this unfair. Not only wasn’t it their fault, but most of them actually didn’t have a problem with how things were going.

That would all be fine if Kryptonians had a choice, which they didn’t.

Most people didn’t want any trouble, however, and frowned upon incorrigible troublemakers. Illura didn’t blame them. She might even, under different circumstances, have become one of them, but things being as they were, a nuclear family in service of the state would never make her happy. Happiness, as even conformists would agree, was the key to obedience.

The ride took almost an hour, and it was completely dark by the time she reached her destination. Careful to keep her face hidden, she left the tram, the station, and weaved her way through the crowds toward the state-owned data key factory. Shortly before reaching the factory grounds, she dived into a side-alley and headed to a small, cosy if somewhat grimy eatery that was furnished with round little tables and drowned in warm, yellow light. In the corner, her contact was already waiting. She didn’t know him, but could tell from the way he sat in his chair and nursed a cup of tea, from the way he kept looking about himself and tapping his foot and checking his timepiece.

Without standing on ceremony, she sat down opposite him. “I’m from Erkol. I think I got lost.”

The man, relatively young and wide-eyed, stared at her for a few seconds. “I have a map for you.” The delivery was shaky and quiet, but the words were correct.

Korr had been right: establishing a code made everything easier.

She held out a hand. “That’d be lovely.”

It took him two tries until he finally managed to fumble the data key from his pocket and hand it over to her. He leaned over to whisper, “The Insider might get caught. This was a one-time thing,” before he noisily pushed his chair back, got to his feet, and hurried outside, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Trying to be a little more discreet than not at all, Illura did the same and marched back to the station. She’d make a stop along the way to buy some medicine from what little coinage she had, spend the night at a cheap guesthouse, and then head back to Karon Hill. It was risky, staying this long within city limits, but she could not head back in the dark, much less risk being spotted by late-night Security Patrol units policing the streets.

This time, she got a seat in the tram and gladly dropped herself on it. Her heart was pounding and she felt strangely light-headed. In her left hand, she tightly gripped the sharp-edged data key that maybe contained the information she needed to change Krypton’s entire future. Despite the fever that had her sensitive skin break out in painful gooseflesh, despite her burning throat, despite her aching skull she couldn’t help but smile. Finally, they were getting somewhere. _Finally_.

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **Borok was one of the more prominent hills that marked the start of what was known as the Jewel Mountain range,** semi-circling Gorv bay and shielding it from the harsh continental plains. That was the main reason ancient explorers who’d left the older region of Erkol had settled there, in the first place: one side of the territory was protected by the ocean, all others by craggy hills and mountains.

Only the desperate or the insane would try to walk all the way up from Kandor to Borok Hill; it would take them the better part of a day, too, if not longer, and that only if they were in remarkable shape.

The shuttle carried Kalan and the others from the A.H. to Borok in just under fifteen minutes. The ride was short, too short for her to get her thoughts under control. What Faora had told her was outrageous and extremely disturbing. Someone had actually hacked into the Armed Forces HQ database, and for that to be possible, someone else had to have messed with the security network from the inside.

That meant that there was a saboteur in the heart of Tryon Hill – a traitor.

Faora hadn't told her what exactly had been downloaded from the database. She’d claimed that she didn’t know yet, but Kalan was pretty sure that that was a lie. It wasn’t like the Warrior Guild to not know what went on inside their own compound. Well, one could argue that they hadn't realised someone was spying on them, and that they still didn’t know who it was. Kalan didn’t think that it was very likely that they hadn't been able to quickly figure out what parts of the database had been accessed, though. Faora hadn't been too specific about how exactly sensors had been disrupted, citing security reasons. That made sense. However, Kalan couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed at the fact that not only did she not have all the facts, everyone else involved in this matter didn’t, either – except the military.

Fact of the matter was, there was a very tangible threat to Krypton, and it wasn’t simply a small group of malcontents hanging around the fringes of society. It was someone from the inside. How could that be? It didn’t make any sense. Why would anyone commit treason against their own people, and for what? Something told her that this wasn’t solely about the Cult of Rao, and the thought that even citizens high up on the food chain preferred chaos to order and peace was unbelievably frightening. Why risk one’s own life to achieve global uncertainty? Didn’t they understand what that would mean for everybody? Things _had_ to be the way they were. It was the only system that ensured prosperity for all. No, not every single individual would be perfectly happy about their profession or about the partners they were assigned, but that was just life. It was a hundred times better than not knowing what to expect, to stumble blindly through a world of chaos and no rules.

As the shuttle approached Borok Hill, Kalan did her best not to get lost in those distressing thoughts, to not panic. She wasn’t the type for panic, really, but in all fairness, she’d never had reason for it. Nothing like this had ever happened to her, and she hadn't expected it to. That was another problem that accompanied the unexpected, wasn’t it? It was still early in the morning when they got to the hill. The reddish glare of the rising sun glinted off the bronze-coloured mountains. Heavy grey clouds were forming on the horizon again, coming in from the ocean. It was important to take in whatever little sunshine there was, because soon, there’d hardly be any for a good number of months.

The shuttle set down on a previously secured platform, about a hundred metres from the excavation site. The site was well visible from there the way it hadn't been from outside the energy barrier protecting it: the arch of the hillside with the cavernous opening that led inside the buried temple. To the sides were the big, clunky, intimidating, unmoving digging drones.

Kalan gingerly stepped from the shuttle onto the rock, gladly accepting Jor-El’s helping hand. Immediately, the icy chill hit her full-force, causing her to suck in a sharp breath. Wind tugged at her coat and her short hair. With the ever unflappable Faora by her side, she made her way to the supervising technician, who was clearly identifiable by the dark-blue uniform and rank insignia he wore. “Good morning!” She had to shout to make herself heard over the whine of the wind. “I’m Administrator Val-Ris.”

“I know!” the technician shouted back, nodding at her and the others in turn. “We already dug our way through to the doors and wedged them apart yesterday. It’s all clear. The structure of the building seems largely intact. We’re reinforcing it via energy barriers, though. Can’t be too careful.”

“Indeed, you can’t,” Faora said, wearing that subtle smile on her face that was halfway between pretty and intimidating. “How often are the security protocols changed?”

“Every two hours, ma’am.”

“Make it every hour. Also, no-one leaves this site until they’ve been cleared to do so by an officer appointed by me.”

Kalan glanced over her shoulder and saw Jor-El and Cam-Larr exchanging a meaningful look. She focussed her attention on the technician again. “Is it safe to go inside?”

The man nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Good.” She looked at Faora. “After you.”

“Wise choice.” Faora strode ahead without further hesitation. She’d always been a woman on a mission, and no mistake.

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **The Insider had known that there’d be a lockdown after the coup.** Of course there’d be a lockdown. It was standard procedure, after all. First, the damage would be assessed. Then, people would be profiled, scanned, interviewed. If the culprit couldn’t be found that way, the powers that be would then electronically tag everyone and then let them go about their work and go home. Those tags were top-notch and completely impossible to remove or tamper with, so there was no reason to fear anyone making a run for it.

At the end of the day – the day of the great discovery – the Insider had meekly allowed office-inspections to take place, had answered questions, had suffered through scans, and had got tagged via subdermal injection, before being allowed to go home. Actually, the plan was to pay a visit to an old friend, first. That would not be viewed as suspicious, since that friend was actually a member of the Artisan Guild and wasn’t at all involved in any matters of security. That friend didn’t have a reputation for being seditious, either, though her husband did – well, in a sense. The Insider had already announced their visit to the friend in question, and was being expected at the Citadel.

Lara Lor-Van stood at the open space of the landing pad / terrace, waiting, a smile on her expressive face, her long, dark hair blowing in the cold breeze. “Welcome. Come in.” Without standing on ceremony, she spun around, her long dress rustling, and walked back inside the grand, ancient building.

The Insider followed. The air was warm and fragrant inside the cavernous visitor’s area – easy to relax in. “You’ve heard about the lockdown at Tryon Hill?”

Lara led the Insider to a sitting area and motioned at an armchair. “Of course. Would you like something to drink?”

“Thank you, I’m all right,” the Insider said, taking a seat. Lara did the same. “Actually, that’s not quite true. I’m worried.”

“About the saboteur?” When the Insider didn’t answer and just looked at her, Lara’s eyes grew wide. She sat back in her own armchair. Colour drained from her face. “You.” Again, no answer came. “But why tell _me_? I could give you away. Why would you think me sympathetic to traitors?”

The Insider took a deep breath. “I think you are sympathetic to people, Lara. I think you and your husband have been harbouring doubts about the system. I know that both of you are distancing yourselves from your Warrior Guild friends. I also believe that you are a good person who would never condemn someone to the Phantom Zone without good cause – and that’s where I’d end up.”

Lara’s dark eyebrows shot up. “And you don’t believe that high treason is a good cause? What do you plan to accomplish? Who hacked into the database? What’s the plan, here?”

“I could ask you how you even know about any of that.”

“Please don’t change the subject.” Lara gave the Insider an impassive look. “I will not condone acts of terrorism.”

“It’s not terrorism,” the Insider hurried to assure. “All we want is freedom of choice. No-one wants to topple the government or anything equally ludicrous. We just want to be allowed to choose whether we wish to have our every move dictated to us or not.” No reply came. The Insider leaned forward a little. “Don’t you ever ask yourself how much potential is lost just because none of us is allowed to develop freely? All children are genetically engineered. Everyone’s path is pre-determined from the cradle to the grave. I know that the Council would have us believe that it’s better this way, and I also know that a good chunk of the population actually approves of that. We don’t want to take that away from anyone. We just want to have the right to say no; that’s all.”

For a good long while, it seemed as if Lara wasn’t going to answer at all. At length, she rose to her feet, walked over to a cabinet, poured dark-green liquid into two goblets, and returned. She handed one of the goblets to the Insider, before sitting down again. “Tell me who ‘we’ is.”

The Insider felt the sudden urge to smile. “You really don’t know?”

“Fair point,” Lara said, and sipped her wine. She scrutinised the Insider attentively. “You knew that I wouldn’t be disinclined to aid you before you pulled that stunt at Tryon Hill, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry I’m dragging you into this, but it’s the only way.”

“Quite the gamble. Does Kalan know?”

“No, she has no clue.” The Insider took a healthy swig of the wine. It was tart, crispy, fresh, and plain wonderful. “She can’t. She wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, she’d understand. I’m just convinced that she wouldn’t agree.” Lara took a deep breath. “Let’s say I do sympathise with your plight. What exactly do you hope to accomplish? The Warrior Guild will crack down on you mercilessly.”

“We’re aware of that, and to answer your unspoken question: no, our plans do not include harming anyone. Like I said: no-one wants to topple the government or force it to change its policy. We just want to be left alone to make our own choices.”

Another half a minute or so went by, during which Lara just sipped her wine, a very slight frown creasing her forehead. Finally, she said, “What do you need?”

Tension drained from the Insider’s posture. “The same thing I’ve been trying to accomplish by making the database download possible.”

“What would that be.”

The Insider smiled. “Leverage.”

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **The air inside the temple had been cleared by machines and was perfectly breathable.** Still, as Kalan gingerly followed Faora inside, she imagined smelling dust and marble and metal and old books. It was ludicrous to assume that any books would have made it after all this time, but the mind was a powerful thing. It told her that an old, venerable place of worship smelled of old books, and it was impossible to convince it otherwise. The light inside the temple was bright and white, being provided by hovering drones. It was even brighter than outside, and as she stepped through the archway and into the temple proper, she squinted.

The moment her pupils adapted, she stopped dead in her tracks and looked around in gobsmacked awe. She was standing in the middle of a truly enormous cavern of a room that was quadrangular in shape and had a lofty, arched ceiling that was held in place by thick, dark, stone columns. To either side, there were long marble pews. At the far end stood an altar, and behind that…

…oh, behind that was the most radiant, most intricately beautiful mosaic Kalan had ever seen. It made her breath hitch in her throat. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh. She stared at it, wide-eyed. It was a several square-metre large scene depicting the anthropomorphic form or Rao, as he stood, arms wide, in front of the red, setting sun. Behind him was the starry sky, showing the constellations as they were visible above Dunol Island. To his feet was the northern hemisphere of Krypton in all its bronze-coloured glory. The mosaic had to be composed of tens of thousands of individual pieces, of hundreds of colours, and it was in perfect shape.

“Amazing, isn't it?”

Slowly, as if moving under water, she turned to look at the owner of the voice. It was the arts expert, Cam-Larr. His light-brown hair was dishevelled, his brown eyes wide and feverish, and there were blotches of red on his cheeks.

“I’ve never seen anything this beautiful,” she replied. Even though her voice was hardly above an awed whisper, it carried in this cavernous hall.

“It’s wondrous,” Jor-El said, from her right.

“Yes, very beautiful,” Faora said, her voice as controlled and pleasant as ever. “Now, I believe the drones found a number of interesting objects in the adjacent transept. El, this is your area of expertise.”

“It is,” Jor-El said, casting Kalan a meaningful look. “Join us at your own leisure.” He followed Faora, who was heading to the door on the far right corner of the nave.

“Sure,” Kalan said idly, and focussed her attention at the mosaic again. Slowly, she stepped closer to it, wishing to take in the details as much as the greater picture. “It’s _perfect_.”

“Actually, there are some cracks running from top to bottom,” Larr said, pointing at a spot above Rao’s sunlit head. “See? We’ll need to get right on that, lest the disturbance cause it all to crumble.”

Kalan squinted, searched, and found what he meant. “Oh, yes. No, that mustn’t happen.” Despite herself, she felt the corners of her mouth curve up in a smile. “Dom will find this amusing.”

Larr arched an eyebrow. “Dom?”

“My husband. He likes to tease me about my own mosaic project, because I’ve been working on it for years and am never happy with it. It depicts the sky above Dunol, too, but it isn't nearly as ambitious as this. I’m not a professional artisan, after all.”

“You’re putting together your own mosaic?” He whistled lowly. “That’s lovely. I’d like to see it.”

That made her laugh lowly. It sounded a little panicky in her own ears. She turned to face him, instead of glancing at him whilst primarily staring at the mosaic all the time. That would be rude. “It’s good enough for an amateur, but you would hate it.”

The look he gave her was one of utter confusion. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Because you’re the planet’s most renowned expert on this kind of thing, and I’m nothing but an amateur.”

“It’s about what gives you joy, isn't it? Don’t be dismissive of things that you love. Leave it to the professionals to be hard on themselves,” he said, smiling a little. His face was pleasant: delicate-featured and friendly. That was the most important thing, wasn’t it? A person’s attitude. That was what made them good-looking, in the end.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” she said, returning his expression.

That was when she heard Jor-El’s voice calling her.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway, wide-eyes and pale. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s Var-El’s engine.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faora and Jor-El make a potentially dangerous discovery, Kalan struggles with information she'd rather not have, and Illura finds herself stuck in Kandor.

 

**1** **The transept that ran adjacent to the temple’s main nave was much smaller, but no less impressive.** Parts of the chamber had caved in during the avalanche, but the damage seemed to have affected only parts of the architecture and not the many assorted artefacts stored therein. In the middle of the room stood, covered in dust, a metre-high cubical box of dark-blue metal. Its surface was engraved with script that had been in disuse for over a hundred years. As Faora carefully stepped closer, she recognised the crest of the House of El on the top of the box. On one side, she read the name of the original owner:

“Var-El,” she said, and turned to raise her eyebrows at the man’s descendant, who was staring at the contraption as if it had sprung out of legend. What she didn’t see in his face, however, was surprise. No, that wasn’t surprise. That was awe. “You knew about this.”

“I did,” he said, and discreetly cleared his throat. “If I’m right, this is Var-El’s engine, or at least a model.”

Her brows knitted together. “The energy-harvesting device?” She waited for a reply, but he only nodded feebly. Some people were not equipped to deal with emotional upheavals very well, it seemed. “That was never built.”

“Seems like it was.” From his coat pocket, he pulled a small scanner, had it analyse the box, and then handed it to Faora. “Look for yourself. The structure inside matches what survived of his original notes.”

She snatched the scanner from his hand and looked at the geo display showing a three-dimensional octagram that was seemingly suspended inside the box. It was, according to the scanner, very compact, made out of ellanium, and held in place by some sort of magnetic field. Not that she cared much about the specifics of the thing, but she did care about what it might be, what it might represent, and about any danger it might pose to public security. “I’ll order a safe transport to take this box to Tryon Hill.”

Jor-El tensed up visibly. He frowned at her. “This is a scientific discovery and should go to the A.H., along with everything else.”

Giving him a thin little smile, she said, “This box contains an unidentified object that could be your ancestor’s miracle machine, but could also be a booby trap. Do you really want to risk the A.H. being blown to pieces just because you didn’t want to relinquish control of the situation to me?”

“It’s not a booby trap. I can show you Var-El’s schematics for-”

“It’s a security matter, El. Leave that to the professionals.”

From the way he looked at her, it was pretty easy to gather that he was pouring all his self-control into keeping calm. Scientists. They knew nothing of true discipline. “I have a signed documented granting me access to all scientific discoveries made-”

“You do, and you will. Security measures, however, trump scientific curiosity. As soon as we’ve made sure that this” – She shrugged – “ _thing_ isn't actually dangerous, you’ll be allowed to have it.”

“Danger and public security are very foggy concepts. Who knows what you might deem dangerous, or which measures you will find appropriate in the name of security. This is something that belongs to all of Krypton. If you get to just whisk it away, we both know that it’ll never leave your possession again.”

The smile, as small and not genuine as it was, disappeared from her face. Her eyes narrowed. Still clutching the scanner, she crossed her arms behind her back and stepped closer to him. “You don’t trust me. That, by itself, is not a problem. However, I sense that you’re insinuating that I, and therefore all of the Warrior Guild, place personal prejudice and agendas above the common good. That, unfortunately, does constitute a problem.”

To his credit, Jor-El stood his ground were lesser men would have folded. Returning her look coldly, he replied, “I’m insinuating nothing of the sort, but you and I both know that once the Warrior Guild decides that someone or something is a risk to public safety, then that someone or something is as good as dead.”

Faora tried her best not to clench her teeth and to tense up visibly. Instead, she slightly tilted her head to the side and forced herself to smile again, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t care whether you’ve lost faith in those who would give their dying breath to protect Krypton and her people. As far as I’m concerned, you can believe whatever you want. This _doesn’t_ concern only myself, though. I don’t look forward to informing the lieutenant general of your rather seditious attitude. However, you don’t really leave me any choice.”

Jor-El looked wounded for a moment, but then he recomposed himself and just went back to glowering at her. “If Zod has a problem with my attitude, he’s welcome to try to change it. Until then, I will not simply allow you to let my ancestor’s machine disappear in the bowels of Tryon Hill. I will fight you every step of the way, because this” – He pointed at the box – “may be the solution to all of our problems, Faora, and if you and the likes of you get your hands on it, we will never reap the benefits of it, and you know it.”

“So much needless melodrama,” she said, slowly shaking her head. This was quite ridiculous. How could a person be this blinded by their own ambitions? Did he seriously believe that he was acting in the interest of Krypton? There were more forces at work than he could possibly understand, and finding a way to harvest stellar energy was no-one’s priority at the moment. “You disappoint me.”

He snorted derisively. “You’ll get over it.”

“You’re right; I will. You may not care about my personal opinion, but you should care about that which you dismiss so easily. You say that Var-El’s engine is the solution to all our problems? You’re way too sheltered to know what our problems really are. Even if getting access to clean energy were a priority, and even if this is Var-El’s machine, everyone who ever read the schematics knows that the device can be used to cause unimaginable destruction. I can’t risk this falling into the wrong hands.” She almost added that she was sorry, but why lie? He was in the wrong. She was in the right. It was that simple.

“Let’s see what the Administrator has to say about that,” he retorted, turned around, and marched off without waiting for a reply.

Faora watched him leave serenely. She already knew what Kalan’s answer would look like.

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **Finding a place to stay at the fringes of the city’s lowest level hadn't been too hard,** and Illura wasn’t the only person around looking for anonymity. Luckily, she’d been able to scrap together some cash beforehand and had managed to rent a small room in a very cheap guesthouse. Unluckily, her cold got from bad to worse. During the night, her fever spiked, and she spent hours writing in her bed, freezing, sweating, coughing, trying to ignore the pain in her head and limbs and heavily inflamed throat. Several times, she made herself totter to the floor’s only lavatory, drink water, splash her sensitive and aching skin in order to try to break the fever.

Finally, in the early hours of dawn, she drifted off into a black and dreamless sleep.

When she came to, sun was shining through the only halfway drawn curtains. She felt like she’d been run over by a train: her whole body ached, her throat and mouth were parched, and her eyes were horribly sore.

Well, at least the fever was gone, and the medicine she’d bought had done a great job on her inflamed throat. At her parents’ house, all she’d need would be one injection, and the cold would’ve been taken care of before any serious symptoms could even begin to manifest. Since she was now a dissident and didn’t have any more access to high-class treatments, she had to take what she could get and be grateful that she was able to find any medicine at all.

Boy, did that train of thought sound whiny in her own head, or what?

Moving carefully, she fought off the dizziness as best as she could, sat up, and planted her bare feet on the worn carpet. With trembling fingers, she tried to sort out the greasy rat’s nest that was her poor hair, but gave up after a while. No, she needed to take a shower and gather herself. Then, she absolutely had to get out of Kandor and back into the hills. She tried to stand, tottered, saw stars, and plopped herself on the creaky, thin mattress again. All right. Maybe she should stay another night just to make sure she didn’t conk out on her way back to Borok. It was a risk, sure, but it was of vital importance that she get back with the data key the Insider had risked their life to provide her with. She’d manage to get out of town easily enough once she’d regained some of her strength.

After another two attempts, she finally got to her feet and lurched to the window on rubbery legs. It was sunny outside, and she had to squint against the reddish glare for a while before her pupils adapted. That was when she saw what was going on in the street and probably all streets beyond. Her stomach knotted. Her breath hitched in her throat. An icy shiver slithered down her spine. She had to hold onto the window sill for support when black spots started dancing in front of her eyes.

Down below, dozens of soldiers were patrolling the underbelly of Krypton’s capital.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as easy to leave town as she’d thought.

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **The temple was a goldmine of wonderful discoveries, and it most certainly filled in some gaps regarding pre-Enlightenment times.** Most of the findings – tokens, candle-holders, jewellery, ceremonial items – were going to be examined and catalogued right where they’d been found, before being taken to the appropriate departments at the A.H. The mosaic would have to be restored, the temple structure repaired, and everything that had been damaged during the rockslide needed to be mended. In time, however, once everything was taken care of, this place might be turned into a museum. Kalan was sure that the public would be very interested in finding out more about Krypton’s past. Visiting the temple would feel to them as it felt to her: like stepping through a time portal.

Naturally, Faora had responded to those plans with a non-too cryptic ‘We’ll see’, and Kalan understood the root of Faora’s trepidations. There was still a Cult of Rao around, as well as sympathisers in the population, and opening the temple up for business might turn it into a place of pilgrimage. The dissidents needn’t be encouraged. That would only feed the fires of discontent, and that wouldn’t exactly help keeping the peace. There were ways to circumvent this kind of problem, of course, but those ways meant curtailing citizens’ freedom of movement, and that was something bound to elicit resistance.

She was back at her A.H. office, sitting at her desk with Jor-El on the opposite side. Cam-Larr had stayed at the excavation site in order to more closely assess the damage the mosaic had suffered. Faora had a soldier assigned to watch over him as he worked. Soon, more members of the Artisan Guild would be sent to the site, as well as more soldiers. This wasn’t exactly how Kalan had pictured the discovery and restoration process, but there was nothing she could do. There were terrorists on the loose, and as administrator, it was her job to make the city run smoothly; that meant giving the Warrior Guild all the support she could. They were, after all, only interested in keeping the peace.

“The price for security is freedom, Jor-El,” she said, having to force the words out. It had been a while since she’d felt this weary, and she wasn’t one for speechifying on her best day. “You know that.”

“How many freedoms are we supposed to simply give up on in the name of public safety?” Jor-El shot back. His face was pale and his hands balled into fists. “Let’s say the Warrior Guild magnanimously allows us to turn the temple into a museum. What then? Are they going to decide who gets to see it and who doesn’t? Will there be identity checks? Screens? Strip-searches? Will people who have relatives that have been branded as seditious be banned from visiting the temple? Will people be questioned about whether they sympathise with Cult of Rao members?”

A moment passed as she just returned his look levelly. Five years ago, she might have flinched at the words, or felt like simply fleeing the scene. Instead, she sat back, crossed her arms, and replied, “I understand your anger, Jor; I really do. However, I stand by my decision: no, you don’t know what’s inside that box. Yes, it does represent a security risk. Yes, Faora had every right to confiscate it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

“I think it was. I’m not trying to downplay your concerns, and I share some of them, but please, be honest: you’re angry because she took your ancestor’s invention to Tryon Hill. You didn’t seem this enraged about the Warrior Guild’s control of security matters involving the temple before Faora decided to bag Var-El’s mystery box. You didn’t approve, but you also didn’t feel it necessary to take your anger out on me.”

For a few seconds, he just stared at her, but then he took a deep breath and relaxed. “I apologise. I don’t mean to take my frustrations out on you.”

She offered him a subtle but genuine smile. “I know. If it’s any consolation, I don’t like it any more than you do, but trust me when I tell you that these measures are necessary.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Why?”

“I can’t disclose the exact reason, but there _are_ reasons.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I wonder why the Warrior Guild is so hell-bent on stomping down any religious sentiment that might crop up. That’s what they’re afraid of, isn't it? That people might turn to the Cult of Rao if they set foot inside the temple. That this might spark seditious thought amongst the general population.”

Blinking at him in confusion, she said, “That’s not all they’re concerned about, but it is a concern. Frankly, I’m surprised at how sympathetic toward dissidents you sound. They’re trouble-makers. They advocate chaos and uncertainty. They want to topple the current order. That’s not a good thing.”

“Maybe they just want to be left alone.”

That was a strange thing to say. She scrutinised him closely, feeling the muscles in her back knot. “You’re a scientist,” she said slowly, quietly, “and it’s your job to look at everything from different angles, to ask uncomfortable questions. I don’t see the advantage in doing that in this case, though. Maybe you’re just trying to understand why there are people who’d wish to threaten the peace, but that’s not what it sounds like. I’m going to tell you this as a friend, Jor: you sound like a dissident. If the wrong people heard you saying these things, you might get into serious trouble.”

The corners of his mouth curved up in a small, tired smile. He said, “I don’t want to threaten anyone or anything, least of all the peace. I love Krypton. I want what’s best for everyone.”

After studying his expression and his posture for another moment, she decided that he was still the Jor-El she knew, the Jor-El who would never support terrorism. Relaxing and only just refraining from exhaling sharply in relief, she said, “I know. I’m sorry I got paranoid for a moment, but a lot has been happening lately.”

“I understand…and thank you for your warning. You could have just smiled and nodded and called Faora immediately after I left, to tell her about your suspicions. You didn’t, though. I appreciate that.”

It was her turn to smile. “Well, I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I ratted you out to the Armed Forces, would I?”

“Luckily, we won’t have to find out.”

“Luckily.” She turned serious. “I really am sorry about the box, but I’m sure that it’ll be handed over to you in no time.”

The jovial expression melted off his face. “I’m sure.”

The door chime bleeped, and the security system’s bland female voice announced, “Ro Val-Ris to see you, Administrator.”

“Let her in.”

Ro stepped inside as soon as the heavy door slid open; she stopped short when she spotted Jor-El. “Am I interrupting? I could come back later.”

“It’s all right.” Jor-El pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “I was about to leave, anyway. Kalan.” He nodded at Kalan, at Ro, and walked briskly outside. The door slid shut.

“Sit down, Ro. Do you want something to drink?”

Ro shook her head, but followed suit and dropped herself on the chair in question. She was very pale and had dark rings around her bloodshot eyes. “I haven't sat down all day. Don’t be alarmed if I fall asleep.”

Kalan watched her, frowning. “You’ve been working too hard. If you don’t get some rest, you’ll keel over in a couple of days at the most.”

“I’m fine,” Ro said, dismissively waving off. Her hand was shaking, though.

“You’re not fine,” Kalan said, feeling herself go into full big sister mode. She got up from her chair and went to get Ro a tea from the synthesiser. She handed her the mug with the steaming, sweet-smelling contents and sat down again. “You’re going to wrap up what absolutely cannot be put off, delegate the rest, and then, you’re going home to sleep. If you’re still in the building an hour from now, I’ll have you taken to a hospital, where they’ll sedate you for your own good.”

Sipping her tea, Ro gave her a black look. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I know what I’m doing, and there are things I can’t delegate.”

“I don’t care. As administrator, I’m responsible for the well-being of everyone working at the A.H., and I will not sit by and watch you toil yourself into an early grave.”

Ro closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath. “Before you tuck me in, can I at least tell you why I’m here?” She faced her sister again and pulled a grimace. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get snippy.”

“It’s all right. No-one’s in a good mood today.”

“I wonder why,” Ro said dryly, and yawned. “Anyway, have you talked to Dom?”

Kalan shook her head. “Not since yesterday morning. He spent the whole day at Tryon Hill after the lockdown and only got home late at night. When I woke up, he was already gone again.”

“I talked to his brother. He told me nothing about the state of affairs over there, except for one thing, and that’s a whopper,” Ro said, and scratched her neck, before giving Kalan a pained look. “They’ve been tagged: him and Dom.”

“Everyone who was there has been tagged. It’s a standard security measure.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Ro put the mug down, chewed on her lower lip, and briefly rubbed at her visibly sore eyes. When she lowered her hands, her face was even paler than before. “They’ve been tagged, Kalan. They’re suspects.”

It took a few seconds for Ro’s words to register. Kalan stared at her blankly. “Can’t be.”

Ro chuckled wryly. “Trust me; it is. They’re suspects. That means we are under close scrutiny, too. Neither you nor I are believed to be dissidents yet, but that might change if the suspicions against Dom or Mal aren’t dismissed quickly.”

“But how do you-”

“I _know_. That’s what I’m here to tell you: watch your back.”

Kalan tried not to freeze up, but it was impossible. Maybe now really was the time to contemplate panic.

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **Without making a big fuss about it, Faora had the mysterious box transported back to Tryon Hill,** where she ordered it taken to a secure lab – one of those where new weaponry was tested. Amber alert had, in the meantime, been terminated by the lieutenant general. She knew that there were two reasons for this without needing to ask: first, the culprit wouldn’t be able to flee after being tagged; second, the measure might lull whoever was at fault into a false sense of security. The traitor would, one way or another, be found and punished. Everyone who had worked with them would be found out, too. There was no way, no way they’d be able to succeed at whatever it was they were planning to do with the stolen data.

Security codes, passwords, and encryptions had already been changed, but as of yet, there really was no telling what damage might be done with the downloaded information. She didn’t exactly look forward to debriefing the lieutenant general, who’d just returned to Kandor, but on the other hand, it was good that the responsibility for cleaning up the mess wasn’t solely hers anymore. It wasn’t as if she were afraid of making mistakes, but she was self-aware enough to realise that her judgment was sometimes compromised by her personal opinions, which made her more fallible than she wanted to be. Mistakes could be made during times of peace, but they weren't living at peace any longer. Their way of life, their prosperity, everything was being threatened by a handful of malcontents. No, this was not the time for doubts or for mistakes, and that was the reason why Faora was grateful that she was no longer in charge of making every single decision involving the eradication of this danger to Krypton.

After enquiring, she found the lieutenant general and Major Venn, Kalan Val-Ris’s husband, outside the lab where Var-El’s machine was being scanned and analysed by the computer. That was standard protocol. A full analysis was always completed before actual people were sent in to try their hand at any unknown object.

Faora cleared the lift, which was only accessible to a small handful of authorised personnel, and marched down the corridor toward the other officers. “General.” She didn’t exactly feel comfortable having Venn so close to her superior, so close to this potential time-bomb inside the lab, but for now, she had no reason to make her suspicions official. Only time would tell if he was innocent or guilty. She herself had no idea what to believe, but she was fairly certain that whether he was a dissident and terrorist or not, his wife knew nothing about it. Kalan Val-Ris was a competent administrator, but Faora didn’t think she was any good at lying.

Zod briefly glanced at her and gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment, before focussing his attention on the inside of the lab again; a thick wall of transparent ellanium protected them. “Faora. I hear you had an argument with Jor-El over this contraption.”

“A minor one,” she said, taking up position at his right side. “He ended up understanding why it was necessary to bring the box to Tryon Hill.”

This might be a sentimental thing to admit, but she was glad that he was back for more reasons than just the obvious. He was a great commander, but also a great man – one of the few she could safely say that about. That was the reason why she downplayed the argument she’d had with Jor-El, Zod’s oldest friend, foolish as that might be. She didn’t think badmouthing El would amount to anything productive – not at this point. Should she find out that the man was indeed a traitor, as she suspected, then all bets were off, and sentimentality or no sentimentality, she’d take him down in a heartbeat.

“I imagine my wife’s intervention had something to do with that,” Venn said flatly. Yes, he did that a lot: attempt sarcasm. It was better to ignore it. He was standing to Zod’s left, pointedly not looking at Faora even as he spoke to her. What a tiresome little man.

“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth, before addressing Zod in a much friendlier tone: “It’s not official, but the city is on lockdown. No-one without special authorisation can enter or leave. No announcement has been made, but word will spread quickly.”

“Good,” Zod said, giving her the tiniest hint of an approving smile. “With enough pressure, the traitors will surface. Excellent job, Faora.”

“Thank you, sir.” Suddenly, she didn’t feel as if the weight of the world were resting on her shoulders anymore.

“Of course, trade into and out of Kandor will be hindered, which will cost a lot of people a lot of money,” Venn threw in almost casually. This time, he did turn to face Faora. He needed to sidestep Zod though, who was considerable taller and of broader built. “The Council won’t be the only ones to complain.”

Faora glared at him, teeth clenched. Why did he always go out of his way to be antagonistic? They were supposed to be on the same side! Even his wife, who wasn’t even a soldier, was more willing to cooperate. It was truly mind-boggling.

“A minor issue compared to our current security concerns,” Zod retorted, before Faora could make a cutting and therefore destabilising remark. He was right to do it, too: fighting amongst themselves would detract from their common goal, and that must not happen. “All that matters right now is finding out which one of ours is responsible for the database download, and who aided that person, before they can inflict real damage on us. Our reason for living is keeping our people safe. That’s what we’ll do. The Council can worry about the economy. Endlessly debating matters of money is their favourite pastime, anyway. Let us take care of what really matters the way we see fit.”

“I agree,” Faora said levelly, briefly smirked at Venn despite knowing how petty that was, and looked through the transparent wall at the ominous metal box. “What do we do if this really is the famed engine?”

“That’s simple,” Zod said, without any hint of hesitation. “We either find a way to use it against our enemies, or we destroy it.”

“But Jor-El believes that it could solve our energy crisis,” Venn piped up. “That it can be used to benefit everyone.”

A moment’s silence ensued. Faora wanted to tell Venn to stop questioning everything, but held her tongue.

It was Zod who calmly replied, “If this is Var-El’s engine, Major, it has the power to kill every living thing on this planet, and if that is a possibility, then its continued existence cannot be permitted. I would do anything to protect Krypton. What I won’t ever do is allow such a threat of global proportions to exist on the off-chance that it might help generate energy. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” Venn said, but he didn’t sound too happy about it.

Faora shot him a sideways glance, frowning. Maybe she was being overly paranoid, but something struck her as odd about his behaviour. It could be that he was only naïve. It could be that he’d simply spent too much time in the Citadel; he and his wife were friends of Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van’s, after all. Whatever the reason for his strange remarks, Faora would get to the truth of the matter. No-one betrayed Krypton and lived.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm brews and Illura is forced to improvise. Things go downhill from there.

**1** **The flight from the Citadel to Borok Hill via shuttle took about one quarter of an hour,** but nearly forty-five minutes went by until Lara Lor-Van was actually allowed inside the excavation site, and ten minutes more before she was cleared to enter the temple. Jor hadn't been kidding when he’d told her that the Warrior Guild would be making up for the security breach they’d suffered in any way they could.

They could, apparently, do quite a lot.

The whole of Kandor was swarming with not only Security Patrol officers, but with soldiers, too. The Law Council had authorised Tryon Hill to tighten security measures all over Krypton, but Kandor itself seemed to be currently operating under martial law. Whoever the poor sod in possession of the stolen Tryon Hill database was, Lara did not want to be in their shoes. If she were to think about it too thoroughly, she might end up coming to the conclusion that her shoes weren't the most comfortable to be in at the moment, either.

As of yesterday, she was aiding and abetting a wanted criminal, a fugitive, a terrorist. Sure, she’d been told that terror was not the goal of the Cult of Rao dissidents, that no-one was to be harmed, and she believed this; otherwise, she wouldn’t have agreed to help. The Law Council and the Warrior Guild would, however, not see it that way. Deviance was a heinous crime in their eyes, and from their perspective, their harsh laws made perfect sense. After all, Krypton was at peace. The system worked. Most people were contented. Why change that?

The problem wasn’t that one could either agree with how everyone’s lives were handled or wish to overthrow the system. The problem was basic lack of choice; Lara completely agreed with the Insider (which was, as a matter of fact, a simple but accurate code name). Again, this was something that from the perspective of the judicial, legislative, and executive branches made perfect sense: if people were allowed to simply either choose to follow the pre-determined path or not, then there’d be several sub-cultures existing at once, planetary cohesion would crumble, and it would be difficult to ensure everyone’s well-being. No, either the control was complete, or there could be no enforceable control whatsoever.

That was the logic behind the laws, at least.

Lara herself wasn’t so sure about any of it, anymore. Most people, no matter where they lived and what they did, certainly did not want any kind of chaos and uncertainty. They wanted a peaceful life of stability and prosperity. They wanted to have families and friends and a job and a place to live, etc. etc.

However, not everyone’s concept of stability was the same. What of the people who didn’t want children? What of those who’d rather not marry? What of those who’d rather have a different occupation than the one assigned to them before they were even born? Nobody, from the highest-ranking official to the lowest manual labourer had any say in the matter at all. Everyone was a cog in the well-oiled proverbial machine that was Kryptonian society. Lara certainly understood the motivation behind the actions of people like Faora-Ul or her cherished boss, Dru-Zod. They wanted to make sure the machinery ran smoothly, that there was no chaos. They wanted to make sure that the current era of peace and prosperity that Krypton was – in their minds – going through was not threatened by rogue elements.

The question that wouldn’t leave Lara alone was this, though: was the price of peace really worth it? As a very young woman, she probably would have said that yes, it definitely was. Now, though, after a few decades of living in this rigid, scripted world, she had to admit to herself that she wasn’t even on the fence, anymore. She did not agree with current policies, and neither did her husband. From her conversation with the Tryon Hill saboteur, she’d learned that not even people attached to the military were exempt from subversive thoughts and the desire for change.

After finally being cleared by the many security checkpoints, she resolutely stepped into the temple, marvelling at how grand this ancient place of worship was, how it mocked every description. It was easy to fall in love with the splendour of days gone by, of times when unspeakable amounts of money had been poured into building huge monuments to an elusive deity that might or might not rain its blessings on the believers if only these believers worshipped it enough. That, as a matter of fact, was another point of contention the Council and the Warrior Guild had with religion: faith was like love. It was irrational. It was pervasive. It didn’t let go. People who felt it would do anything to defend it. That made it a threat. Again, many arguments spoke against organised religion, and again, Lara didn’t feel comfortable with the government’s decision to outlaw it because they didn’t agree with it. Yes, there were good reasons to ban religion. There were just as many good reasons speaking for people being allowed to believe whatever they wished. That was the problem: everyone was so sure that their position was the right one.

She herself didn’t believe in a creator, but it wasn’t her place to judge those that did. Did that make her a sympathiser? Probably. Yes. Of course it did. She had yet to tell Jor about all of this, about her helping the Insider, but she was fairly certain that he’d approve. After all, his own distaste with the current social policies was growing stronger every day. It was a marvel that he had not had a fallout with his oldest friend, the illustrious and horribly uncompromising General Zod, already. That friendship was hanging by a thread as it was, since they basically couldn’t agree on anything anymore. It was always sad when people became estranged, but it was an inevitable fact of life. If the worldviews differed too much, there weren't many friendships strong enough to withstand that, in her opinion.

In front of the impressive, beautiful, incredibly intricate mosaic depicting Rao and Krypton and what had to be the night sky over Dunol Island, Lara found her Erkolean colleague Cam-Larr, who was assessing the damage done to the wall with a number of small, hovering scanners.

When he heard her steps approaching, he briefly glanced at her over his shoulder, before focussing on his task again. “It’s suffered several small cracks that are much more dangerous than the obvious ones. I know the mosaic has endured many centuries buried underneath the rubble, but the mountain has been quiet ever since the rockslide buried the temple. Who knows what all this new commotion might do to it?”

“You’ve secured it with a force-field.” She stepped next to him.

“I have. The mosaic’s the only thing they haven't removed to seal away in a box and bury it in some A.H. or Tryon Hill vault.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakeable.

Turning to look at him properly, she took in the terse set of his jaw, his tense posture, the pallor of his face. “I know it’s bitter,” she said, a little surprised by the warmth of her tone. “Believe me, I know. I myself am in charge of handling the artefacts that aren’t considered a danger to the public, and _I_ have to fight to gain access to them.”

He rubbed at his eyes and blew out a heavy breath. “I’m so sick and tired of all the paranoia. All I want to do is my job. This isn't about religion or public safety. This is about art – at least it should be. That’s what I’m here to restore: priceless art. That’s all I do, all I’ve done my entire life.”

“There is nothing we can currently do against the way things are,” she said, feeling tired, herself.

That was when he truly looked at her for the first time. “Isn't there?”

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **Even though that bombshell that Ro dropped on Kalan’s head was disorienting and overwhelming,** the latter still managed to convince the former to go home and get some rest. Ro, as spokeswoman for the Law Council, had a workload that was not be to envied: not only was she basically the Council’s personal assistant and secretary, but she was also their public face and their attaché to Tryon Hill. Of course she had underlings, but she didn’t like delegating and mostly just tried to take care of everything by herself. She’d been at this job for three years, and it had aged her. Kalan was constantly catching herself as she thought about Ro, as she tried to find ways to make her little sister slow down a bit.

Then, there was the Mal-Venn thing.

In all probability, no-one but Kalan truly noticed, but those two spent an inordinate amount of time together. Yes, their work had them interact on a regular basis, and their respective siblings were married to each other, but still, Kalan couldn’t help but wonder if their interactions were as proper as they were supposed to. Ro was only thirty-one and not due to marry for another two years, but her intended was someone working for the Science Guild, not Mal. It wasn’t as if there was a law against people, well, being close, but it never helped if the person in question was not the pre-determined partner. Falling in love with the wrong man or woman only ended in heartbreak, because there was no choosing one’s partner. This was all for the greater good, and most people Kalan knew were happy with the arrangement; she was one of them, in fact. Dom was a good man, and they complemented each other exceedingly well.

She didn’t mean to accuse her cherished little sister of being in love with Mal, or worse, of being irresponsible, but the nagging suspicion that all was not as it should be remained. Come to think about it, maybe other people had noticed it, too. After all, why else would the Warrior Guild connect Ro to the database theft? Sure, she did have some clearance for Tryon Hill, but she wasn’t a tech wizard; like Kalan, she was someone who coordinated and administrated. No, the connection to Mal must be the problem, as Kalan’s connection to Dom was.

Just trying to picture either Dom or Mal as dissidents and saboteurs was such a ridiculous thought, it almost made her laugh. None of them harboured seditious thoughts against the order of things. Assuming that made no sense. Then again, it was Faora-Ul who was part of the select group in charge of rooting out the traitors, and she as well as her boss were, in Kalan’s opinion, needlessly mistrustful. But one couldn’t really blame them for suspecting everyone of being capable of treason; after all, security was their job, and the database theft had been a terrible blow. Whatever the culprits planned to do with the stolen information, it couldn’t be a good thing.

As she sat in her office and tried to go about her daily work, her thoughts kept wandering to Jor-El, his strange, angry tirade against the Warrior Guild, and his thinly-veiled sympathy for the Cult of Rao members. Could it be that he was somehow…

_No_. Oh, no, she was not going to allow her thoughts to go down that path. If she were to discover that Jor-El was a traitor and a terrorist, she’d be forced to rat him out to Faora, who’d gladly extract any information he might have about the dissidents before handing him over to the Law Council. His ultimate fate would be to be banished to the Phantom Zone for at least twenty cycles. The mere notion made Kalan’s stomach cramp and her hands tremble. Her mouth got dry. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. No, Jor-El was not a dissident, and whatever the reason for his quite frankly dangerous and destabilising views were, he did not deserve to be condemned to a living hell.

The bleep of the door chime startled her, and she flinched.

“Major Dom-Venn to see you, Administrator.”

Tension drained from her shoulders. The chill went away. The air felt warmer again, and the office less stifling. She smiled. “Let him in, by all means.”

He stepped inside purposefully, his sharp-featured, angular, thin, beautiful face serious, his dark hair swept from the wind outside, his cheeks flushed from the cold. The moment he set eyes on her, he visibly relaxed and returned her warm expression. He stopped halfway between the door and the desk and held out his arms to her. “I need a hug.”

Snickering, feeling like a young girl of no more than thirty, she gladly indulged him, hurriedly crossing the distance to where he was and hugging him around the neck, whilst he put his arms around her waist.

“Bad day?” she said.

“The worst. I thought having Faora in charge would be terrible enough, but Zod’s return isn't exactly helping the situation, because he wholeheartedly agrees with her approach. Well, of course he does. I’ve never seen those two disagreeing with each other, and I’ve been working with them for a decade.” Dom snorted derisively and hugged her tighter. “She suspects me. You should be aware of this.”

Her stomach panged again. She shifted in his arms, pushing herself only far enough away to be able to look at him, and slid her hands down to his chest. “I already am.”

His thin eyebrows shot up. “Ro?” When she only nodded, he blew out a heavy breath and shook his head. “There’s so much crap going on, I don’t even know what to be worried about, first. This should be a great time, and we should all be amazed and in awe at the discovery of such a cultural treasure. Instead, we’re pointing fingers at each other and finding excuses to become more and more paranoid, more and more inflexible.”

“Well, to be fair, there was that database download. That’s a pretty disconcerting turn of events, wouldn’t you agree?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Of course I agree. I think we need to find whoever made that possible as soon as we can. There’s no way to anticipate what kind of damage may be done with what was taken from us.”

“Do you have any suspects in mind?” She idly reached out to sort out his short-ish hair.

He really needed to take care of that; he was starting to look like he was emulating Jor-El’s style. As a soldier, he wasn’t really in a place to walk around looking dishevelled, though. “No, but I can tell you this much: neither Mal nor I are at fault.”

Kalan almost asked about what he thought of Ro, but felt like the worst person on the planet just for briefly wanting to voice that question. What was even wrong with her? Faora’s words had really got under her skin, it seemed. Was she too starting to see dissidents everywhere? This was not good at all. Suddenly, all she wanted was to take Dom’s hand, lead him home, lock the doors, and stay there until all this business blew over. He could tinker with his model ships and she could do the same with her mosaic. Maybe they could take a trip to Dunol Island, watch the sun go down at the beach, and then just spend hours staring up at the blinking stars. Now, wasn’t that a lovely thought?

“The truth will come out,” she said, instead, not wanting to burden him with any pointless doom and gloom. “It always does, in the end.”

That made him smile again. It was a captivating, beautiful sight. His whole face lit up. “Yes, it does.” Then, he turned serious again. “Anyway, I’m not only here because Faora was mean to me. I actually have some strategy to discuss with you.”

Reluctantly, she stepped out of the embrace and motioned at the desk. “Then by all means, let’s sit down and talk.”

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **There was no way to get out of the city.** A quick foray into the streets had been enough for Illura to determine that she was trapped inside Kandor until further notice. She couldn’t really expect any outside help, nor could she call for it. Hopefully, Korr would be smart about this and not send anyone down here, or even attempt to hobble down the hills himself, on his bum leg. No, Illura was by herself. The contact who’d handed her the data key was long gone – hopefully on the other side of the planet by now – and the higher-up who’d made the download possible had no idea who she was and where she’d holed up in. Sadly, this state of affairs was quite mutual. Illura had to improvise, and she had to do it quickly. Sooner or later, the Security Patrol mooks would find her and the data key unless she used it and then dissolved it into liquid geo, first. But how to accomplish that? Their original plan had gone up in flames. There was no using the information as pressure point, for leverage. Having the Law Council change their policies against dissidents via blackmail had been a pipe dream, anyway, but their best shot at getting public attention for their plight, at least.

Now, there was no plausible way to implement this plan. The moment Illura connected the key to a public computer port, the powers that be would zero in on her and catch her. She didn’t know what exactly they were willing to do to extract information from her, but she had exactly zero intention of finding out. Being the daughter of a pretty prominent house, she was familiar with the sociopathic zealots in charge of the sector, and those guys and gals were basically down for everything in the name of public safety. Illura’s family themselves were, for the most part, people who worked at Tryon Hill in numerous capacities, and if they…

…oh. Here was an idea. It was haphazard and would probably end up in a flaming ball of catastrophic failure, but at least it was better than sitting in a ratty guesthouse, squandering what little money she had on her and waiting for her inevitable capture. If she was going to get caught, then at least she’d do her best to put the information the Insider had risked their life to acquire to good use. Who knew? Maybe the crazy, made-up-on-the-fly contingency plan would even work. Maybe she’d remain undetected and free to continue fighting for her fellow believers – her friends, her true family.

Her mind went to Korr, her closest friend and most trusted ally, and how he couldn’t even get basic pain meds for his broken ankle. It could very well be that the wound was infected, that bone marrow had got into his bloodstream, that he was wasting away in the cold and damp environment up on Karon Hill. A chill went down her spine, and she felt queasy. No, that must not happen. She would do anything in her power to help him, to help all of them. Of course she had no intention of getting captured and condemned to the too-horrid-for-words Phantom Zone, but if she could contribute to the betterment of her planet in no other way, then that was what she was willing to endure.

It sounded pretty damn heroic in theory, but she didn’t really look forward to how her feelings and opinions might change once push came to shove.

She got dressed, pulled her hood over her head, paid the person at the reception, and headed outside into the drizzle as if she had nothing to hide. A strong wind had picked up. Felt like a storm was on the way. Her pre-determined fate as a computer technician for the Armed Forces had led her to being trained in the craft for years. Technology had advanced a bit during her time as a fugitive, but basically, not much had changed, and she’d kept up-to-date as best as she could. Public computer ports were still the same as they’d been five years ago, and since security at Tryon Hill was tight enough not to warrant any worry unless someone from the inside leaked information to someone who wasn’t supposed to have it, the ports were pretty easily manipulated. Their actual function was to provide citizens with common knowledge they might ask for, with directions, weather forecasts, current events etc.

Once she plugged the data key into the port, she’d have about two minutes until the software caught on to the fact that the information it was reading was classified. She knew that the Insider had removed some of the alarms from the data files, but it would not be enough. No, she didn’t want to read and analyse the information in order to later be able to use some of it against the powers that be. No, what she wanted was for all hell to break loose.

Her breathing laboured, her head pounding and her throat burning, she forced her tired and sore body to move several blocks away from the guesthouse, toward the heart of the undercity, just to make tracking her a tad more difficult. The computer port she headed for was nestled between two ten-story-high low-management office buildings, and there was no-one paying any kind of attention to it. Well, that was good news. Her heart hammered painfully and she was weirdly light-headed as she approached the port, pulled the data key from her cuff pocket, held her breath, and plugged it in.

Immediately, the port started to blare an alarm.

Oh-oh. Time was up.

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **“Because only a limited amount of people had access to the technical maintenance level,** I believe it won’t actually be very difficult to find out who disabled the dampening field and scrambled the sensors,” Faora told Zod, pointing to the display with the names and profiles of the suspects she’d assembled for him. They were in his office, side by side, watching the display solemnly. “I am loath to admit this, sir, but I highly suspect Major Venn of being the culprit. He was logged in at the time of the breach, and he couldn’t satisfactorily account for his precise whereabouts or activities.”

“None of these suspects could, due to the sensors beings scrambled,” he said, briefly glancing down at her. She wasn’t exactly a midget, but he was still considerably taller.

She looked up at him, her brow slightly creased, and said, “You disagree, then?” in a level tone, not wishing to come across as antagonistic.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Finally, he said, “I’m not sure. We’ve worked together for a good number of years, now, Faora, and I trust your judgment. But Major Venn has always been a loyal officer. Why suspect him, in particular, apart from your obvious dislike playing a role in your assessment?”

Naturally, she didn’t like being told that she only suspected a man of treason because that man was a thorn in her eye, but she had to admit that he had a point. That was something that happened quite often, and other than was the case with, say, Jor-El, in Zod’s case, she didn’t mind. He was, after all, her superior officer. “I’m not sure yet,” she admitted, and faced the display again. “It’s something about his general attitude. He’s been making strange remarks as of late that I can’t help but disapprove of.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the way he spoke with you down at the lab,” she said, slightly annoyed at the obvious edge to her voice. “It was disrespectful, not to mention subversive. Given the nature of the material that was stolen, his complaints seemed highly suspicious to me.”

“He has a right to verbally object to my decisions,” he said, turning sideways to face her properly, “but since I always tell you to trust your instincts, I’d be remiss in my duty if I ignored your advice.”

She faced him too and smiled a little; for once, it was a genuine sentiment. “Thank you, sir. I can assure you that I have no intention of blindly accusing anyone out of personal dislike. I’ll find this traitor for you, and there’ll be no doubt that he or she is in fact the guilty party.”

It was his turn to smile a little, too. The expression was subtle, but took years off of him. “I know you will. I trust you completely.”

Before she could spend too much time trying to find a fitting answer to that, the room was drowned in amber light. Her eyes went wide, even though the rest of her expression remained calm. “Someone’s accessing classified information.”

His subtle little smile broadened just a tad. “Good. Finally, we’re about to get some answers.”

 

* * *

 

 

**5** **It was already relatively late in the afternoon, but nowhere near the hour Kalan and Dom usually left work.** However, the entire experience had been pretty draining, not to mention the suspicions of treason hanging over their heads like an ominous storm cloud. Both of them felt like they needed some time to catch their breath and clear their minds. A short time ago, everything had seemed so exciting to Kalan: the discovery of the temple had been a marvel, and now, she was apparently a suspect in a high treason case. The Cult of Rao was stronger than she’d thought, Var-El’s engine may or may not have been built after all, and terrorists had downloaded sensitive information off Tryon Hill’s highly confidential database.

The situation on Krypton wasn’t anywhere near as stable and peaceful as Kalan had believed up until only a day ago, and she had no idea how any of these massive problems could be fixed. She, as Kandor’s administrator, had a duty to fix what had been broken, but what was the appropriate response to what was happening? The Warrior Guild would simple stomp down all opposition, and the Council might oblige them by passing even stricter laws. But wouldn’t more pressure create even stronger resistance? Not that this resistance was in any way wide-spread, but it was enough of a threat to public safety as it was. There was no need to make it any worse.

For the first time since she’d stepped into her mother’s shoes, Kalan had no idea what to do, how to proceed, or what even to think. Up until now, every problem she’d encountered in her professional life had been something she’d been prepared for. This, however? The act of sabotage itself went against the core principles of Kryptonian society. The perpetrators were people who wanted to tear apart the fabric of civilisation. The fact that not just their actions, but they as a group were unpredictable was horribly disconcerting.

She and Dom took the tram home in silence, sticking close to each other. It was impossible to tell who needed the comfort more. He had been tagged, and she was under observation by association. Of course she knew that he was innocent, and even though she believed in the justice system, it was hard not to feel jittery, not to look about oneself in the tram, trying to find anything (or anyone) suspicious. But the sight was the usual: commuters from the A.H. to the upper levels of Kandor – nothing to see there. Nothing out of the ordinary going on. Well, there were more scout ships flying overhead, and Kalan spotted several Security Patrol officers on the several stops between the A.H. and Tryon Hill. She also knew that communications were being closely monitored, and that the lower levels were crowded with Security Patrol guards and soldiers.

Better not to think about it too much. Things would sort themselves out. Everything would go back to the way it was very soon. There was no reason to panic, her churning stomach and acid reflux notwithstanding.

They had to walk a short distance of half a click from the station to their house, but from about half that distance, they could see that two people were waiting for them, bundled up in thick coats and squinting against the increasing rain: Ro and Mal. The wind had caught one of Ro’s long, fair strands of hair and was whipping it before her face, but she kept her hands buried in her coat pockets. Mal was standing so close to her that their arms were touching. His face was flushed red, and he was visibly shivering. Some people didn’t deal very well with the cold.

Kalan and Dom exchanged a frowning look before marching the last few metres uphill and stepping through the gate, up the stony path, and to the thick front door.

“Please, no more bad news,” Dom said, having to raise his voice due to the howling wind. A storm was picking up. Before long, it would probably get bad enough to rattle the lower levels, too – perhaps even the ground level.

It was Ro and Mal’s turn to exchange a look. The former said, “No, but after what happened, both of us felt we should just sit down and bounce some ideas off of each other.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Dom said, turning to unlock the door and letting everyone inside. “Let’s hope the drones up there taking nice pictures of us don’t make our superiors think that anything’s suspicious is going on.”

“It’s probably way too late for that, big brother,” Mal said, chuckling, and followed the others into the house.

When the door slid shut, Kalan immediately relaxed in the pleasant, dry warmth and breathed in the fragrant, vaguely floral-scented air. She loved her home: the rooms were spacy and tall, the walls painted in warm colours, and the furniture was fluffy and comfortable. The latest fashion was much more austere and minimalistic, much like the Citadel’s inner décor, but Kalan liked the almost sentimental way her and Dom’s house was furnished. It made her feel sheltered and warm and safe. It made her feel like she could just shut the door and leave all problems behind.

“Why don’t we all settle down in the living area and I’ll get us something to drink,” she said, turning to smile at the others. “I believe-”

The words got stuck in her throat when out of all their pockets, their comms bleeped shrilly in a frequency they’d been taught to interpret correctly, but had never been exposed to in earnest. From way over their level, sirens were heard. Dom pulled out his comm; it was blinking amber light. They all exchanged wide-eyed looks.

“Oh, shit,” Mal said quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Oh, shit, indeed. This could only mean one thing: something horrible had happened. Whoever had hacked the Armed Forces database had put the stolen information to use.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Security measures are enforced, the search for the traitor gets rolling, and Illura does the only thing she can in order to save her skin. Meanwhile, Kalan and co. can't escape the clutches of growing fear and paranoia.

**1** **What had happened to the two minutes Illura was supposed to have after connecting the data key to the computer port?** Didn’t matter. No turning back now. Only seconds. Holding her breath and ignoring her thumping heart (and shaky hands) she gave the command to upload all the information on the key to the public network, hit the button that’d dissolve the damn thing into the port’s liquid geo system with the knuckle of her thumb, and practically dived into the small alley between the two office buildings the port was flanked by. She didn’t run, didn’t walk too slowly, didn’t look back. A siren approached. Running steps. Searching blue lights of a scout patrol on the pale amber sky. Oh, no. She needed to keep walking keep walking not look up into any camera be recognised.

She needed to get somewhere safe before the Security Patrol goons, or worse, the Warrior Guild took a good look at the footage recorded at the computer port. Zig-zagging through the narrow alleys between office buildings and small manufactories, she found a public square with a tram station. Good! She just needed to gain distance between herself and the computer port, buy some time, get away from the public eye…

…go home.

The powers that be would find her. They’d have her by the end of the day, probably. She’d be caught. Her only hope was that her family might be willing to defy their conditioning and shelter her until then.

Yeah, she didn’t put much stock in that. However, there were pretty sophisticated computers at her family’s home – computers she could maybe use to wreak even more havoc before she was dragged to Tryon Hill for questioning.

Coughing, shaky, and doing her best not to look up and give the security cameras anything to identify her by, she tottered onto the tram and started her trek to the upper levels.

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **The stolen data had been accessed at a computer port on Kandor’s ground level,** where hardly any of the higher-ups ever went. That was the only thing Faora knew as she read the data coming in at the terminal in Zod’s office, minutes after the fact. What kind of idiot would conspire with a Tryon Hill employee, hack the database, and then try to read it at a minimum security public computer port? That made no sense. The theft had been too clever for this kind of approach, too…

…unless…unless…

Oh, no.

She bolted upright and stared at Zod, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion at the exact same moment.

His eyes narrowed. He punched a control at the console, accessing the public newsfeed that, true to its name, the whole of Krypton could view and download from.

It was all there.

Names, deployments, weapon schematics, operation details, and, worst of all, the plans for the Warrior Guild to turn the Security Patrol from a civilian organisation into a military one. This had to be approved by the Law Council, in the end, but the bill was ready to be introduced, and moves had been made to sway key councillors. These plans were, as of yet, top secret, and very much not meant for public consumption. They weren't even meant to be revealed to the whole of the Council before everything had been more or less arranged.

Now, everybody knew. The leaked information was being downloaded by the millions per minute.

Zod punched another control, calling up tech maintenance. “Shut it all down! The newsfeed, the computer ports, civilian communication!”

The voice that responded belonged to Captain Kal-Linn, estranged brother of a known Rao cultist and dissident, Illura Dom-Linn: “ _That’s gonna take a while, sir_.”

“Make it as quick as you can. Start with the newsfeed.”

“ _Yes, sir_.”

He cut the connection, closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and took a deep breath. When he looked at Faora again, he was having visible trouble keeping his ire in check. “It doesn’t even matter. The damage has been done. We need to find that traitor, Faora – _now_.”

She clasped her hands behind her back and returned his look calmly, even though keeping her composure was hard at a moment like this. “The Law Council will object to every measure we take, including the communications shut-down.”

All the muscles tightened in his face. “ _I don’t care_. They’re a bunch of fools who’ll die debating every little issue while civilisation falls apart all around them. No, it’s up to us to repair the damage these terrorists have done to Krypton. We’re gonna catch them and we’re gonna make sure that none of this ever happens again. I don’t care what it takes, or what drastic measures become necessary. We’ll be victorious, and they will fail; I _promise_ you that.”

It was hard to describe the effect those words had on her. She wanted to grin and break something and suck in a sharp breath as if she’d jumped into the icy ocean. She wanted to just give an outlet to the overwhelming sensation of pride drowning out everything else. Instead, she just curved up the corners of her mouth in a subtle little smile and nodded almost imperceptibly. “I hear you, sir,” she said, the tiniest tremor colouring her tone. “They don’t stand a chance against us.”

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **Kalan, Dom, Ro, and Mal were standing in the middle of the formers’ living area,** staring in abject horror at the big view screen, trying to make sense of the unimaginable: someone had uploaded all the stolen data onto the public newsfeed. It was all there: _everything_. Whoever the thief had been, they’d been astonishingly good at hacking. Numbers indicated that the information was being downloaded by the millions all over the planet. Millions of civilians were reading through highly classified intel, were sharing it, were commenting on it.

Then, from one second to the next, the screen went black. There was nothing. Everyone present checked their comms.

“I’m only getting governmental frequencies,” Dom said, his voice quiet and strangely subdued.

“Same here.” That was his brother.

Kalan and Ro only exchanged a look.

Ro’s face was ghostly pale except for reddish blotches high up on her cheekbones. Her eyes were huge. “What were they _thinking_?” she whispered. Everyone looked at her. As if she were suddenly dizzy, she robotically walked over to the nearest settee and dropped herself on it, still clutching her comm unit. “This isn't right. This puts the entire planet in danger.”

Acid sloshed in Kalan’s stomach. She felt cold all over. Forcing herself to snap out of it and move her body to sit next to her sister, she said, “Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

A heavy silence fell.

After a moment, Ro stared at her sister as if Kalan had grown a second head. “Are you _insane_? _How can you even ask me that?_ ”

Kalan, though, being nine years Ro’s senior, wasn’t impressed by the transparent attempt at deflection. “Please just answer the question.”

“I had nothing to do with this, Kalan,” Ro said lowly, her voice shaking. Her eyes were brimming with tears. Her face contorted into a mask of pure rage. She pressed her lips together, shut her eyes, balled her hands into fists, and took a few deep, tremulous breaths. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She sniffled.

Dom tried to exchange a look with his brother, who crossed his arms and stared down at his black boots.

Carefully, Kalan reached out and covered her sister’s right fist with her left hand. Ro’s skin was icy. “I’m sorry if you feel attacked by the question, but your reaction-”

“My reaction is _what_?” Ro cut in sharply, mopping at her eyes with her free hand. “Suspicious? You really think I’m a traitor to the state?” She looked away again, then made herself face Dom with obvious reluctance. “You think so, too?”

Crossing his arms and frowning, Dom said, “Now, hold on a minute. Kalan never said she suspected you of anything, and I said nothing at all. Why are you being this defensive?”

“Why am I being this defensive? Maybe because I’m the only one who’s being asked to explain herself.”

“Your reaction _was_ a little extreme,” Dom said, making a noticeable effort to sound friendly. It made Kalan want to hug him.

Ro wasn’t impressed. She glowered at him, then Kalan, saying, “That’s not it, at least not all of it. You’re thinking about the fact that I’m under observation and that Mal is under observation. You’ve been infected by the Warrior Guild’s paranoia, and now, you’re suspecting those closest to you of committing high treason. That’s what’s wrong, here, and that’s why I’m overreacting. How hard is that to understand?”

“Let’s also not forget the fact,” Mal threw in cheerily, “that Dom and Kalan are under suspicion, too. Maybe they’re just trying to deflect.”

Ro glared at him, as well. “Funny.”

Kalan made herself take a mental step back and think. Ro did have a point. They were getting paranoid, weren't they? Sure, Ro’s behaviour was a little too intense, and she had been pretty fidgety as of late, but all of that could be explained away if one recalled how overworked she was, how stressed out and sleep-deprived.

It could be something else entirely, as well.

Ah, doubts. Doubt were like ideas, and ideas were like viruses. Once they were given opportunity to spread, it was very hard – if not impossible – to get rid of them again. What was this situation doing to them? What was fear doing to them?

Was Kalan really so scared of watching the order she believed in so firmly crumble that she’d started to see enemies of the state everywhere? Was she willing to suspect _her own sister_ for no good reason? Maybe the question she should be asking herself, instead, was this: if Ro really had done something bad, would Kalan tell on her? After all, matters of planetary security were at stake, here. But this was her beloved little sister. Kalan remembered the day her parents had brought the baby home, fresh from the genesis chamber she’d been grown in, and had placed the tiny bundle in her big sister’s spindly arms. Ro had been so tiny, so chubby, so adorable, Kalan had had trouble containing the immediate onslaught of affection that had drowned out everything else inside her. Ro was her sister, her family. She was the baby. Nothing must ever happen to the baby.

Now, they were sitting in this room Kalan loved so much, suspecting each other of being traitors. It was enough to make her wish she could crawl back into her own genesis pod and just shut out the world.

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **Lara and Cam were still at the temple when the security crackdown happened.** The soldiers in charge of watching over them wouldn’t tell them anything useful, and there was no calling anyone or even accessing the newsfeed. Everything was just dead. There were no planetary communications at all, except for governmental frequencies. Lara was a government employee just as much as Jor, but the officer in charge of guarding her told her that no private calls were allowed, and that the frequency was only open in case of emergency orders. Therefore, both artisans had no choice but to wait until they were allowed to leave. There was no going back to work, either, since the order apparently had come in that everything should come to a screeching halt.

As she stood in the temple’s main nave – posture straight, arms crossed, and chin jutted out – she wondered what the cause of all this might be. It wasn’t too hard to guess that it had something to do with the Tryon Hill incident, but what exactly could have happened to warrant a complete shutdown of planet-wide communications? The only conclusion that seemed viable to her was that the person in possession of the stolen data had made it public somehow.

Her thoughts wandered to the Insider, and Lara had to pour considerable effort into keeping her expression level and her body-language inconspicuous. The Insider had told her that no-one was to be harmed, that the information was supposed to be used for leverage. Either they had lied to Lara, or the person who’d done the actual stealing had veered dramatically off-script. Whatever might be the case, this plan had been derailed and now, the authorities were panicking – probably for good reason.

Still, she didn’t think she’d simply betray the Insider’s identity without mulling the issue over thoroughly. The Warrior Guild would find the Insider, anyway, but Lara didn’t feel particularly inclined to be a part of condemning someone to the Phantom Zone for any but the most drastic reasons. That didn’t mean she would protect the Insider at all costs. No, she’d find out the truth, do her best to control the damage, and then she’d decide what to do with the information she had.

“It’s sad, isn't it?” Cam-Larr’s voice dragged her out of her gloomy ruminations rather abruptly.

Blinking, she turned to face him. “Do you mean anything in particular, or just the overall situation?”

He snorted a wry, humourless little chuckle, chewed on his lower lip, and shook his head. “I mean _this_. This discovery? It should’ve been the beginning of something wonderful. I thought it would help connect our current society with the past, help us find ways of understanding ourselves better through art and beauty. But what happened? Everything got catalogued and shipped away. Now, we’re apparently under martial law.”

“That’s a consequence of a terrorist attack, not of finding the temple,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Is it?” He squinted up at her. “Is it, really? You don’t see the connection? The military has been sneaking into both public and private spheres unhindered for a long time, now, aided and abetted by the Law Council, who use the soldiers and SP goons as their henchmen for taking control over everything we do. The moment something comes up that doesn’t fit the mould, it gets quarantined and whisked away and hidden. The moment someone dares to think differently, they get labelled a dissident, and they disappear, as well. Whether it’s remnants of our religious past or data leakages or just diverging thoughts, the response is always the same. It’s just the intensity that keeps getting upped.” He motioned at the officer standing right next to them with a curt nod, whilst the officer just watched him in stony silence. “I might even get into trouble for simply not agreeing with how everything is handled these days. It doesn’t even matter. What matters is that our government is stagnant and that the military has been growing in strength and enforcing their own interpretation of our laws practically unhindered.”

Lara let his words sink in for a moment. Until now, all she’d criticised had been the lack of choice her people had in basically every single decision, but Cam had a point. The escalating discord between Jor and Zod came to mind. Both believed that the Law Council were an ineffectual bunch who took forever to make any decision and who always pursued their own interests rather than Krypton’s. However, Jor was a pacifist who believed in freedom of choice. Zod didn’t disagree with the Council’s laws. He just thought that the execution was badly handled and that the Council wasn’t strong enough to protect Krypton. Come to think about it, the measures implemented by the Warrior Guild _had_ been escalating. Maybe that was the reason Lara had almost immediately taken the Insider’s side in this whole debacle. She didn’t approve of the iron fist approach advocated by people such as Zod and his most trusted lieutenant.

“Let’s all just stay calm and not point fingers,” she said calmly, wishing to defuse the situation before poor Cam talked himself into an arrest. “I know you’re upset; we all are. But we need to stay focussed and not panic. As members of the Artisan Guild, we are public servants, and we have a representative function. The people will look to us for guidance. It will not do to lose control over our emotions.”

He just stared at her for a moment, before rubbing his eyes, exhaling sharply, dropping his hands to his sides, and nodding. After exchanging a quick look with the officer, who was frowning a little, he told her, “You’re right, of course. Forgive my outburst.”

She put on her public smile. “Not at all. It’s quite understandable.” Her thoughts, however, were racing. She needed to get home. She needed to talk to her husband and tell him everything she knew. She needed him to understand that she suspected his old friend might come to the conclusion that a military coup could just be what Krypton needed right now in these trying times.

 

* * *

 

 

**5** **Surprisingly enough, Illura made it to the family estate on Irrek Hill.** This was the illustrious mount that bore the Citadel, home of the even more illustrious House of El, on its peak. It was amazing how little people questioned what happened all around them, including the presence of a shaking, coughing woman who refused to pull the hood of her pretty shabby wool coat from her head even inside the stuffy tram carriage. Reeling and light-headed and seeing stars, she dragged her poor body uphill, fighting the rising gusts of icy-cold wind and sleet as she went, slipping and tripping and nearly landing on her face a few times. When she got to the gates of her family home, she was wheezing, barely on her feet, and trying hard to suppress the urges to cough or swallow, since her throat was on fire. She raised her face to the security scanning system and failed to smile because her teeth were chattering too badly. The fever was back. Great.

For a moment, she wondered whether they’d even let her in, but then, the gate opened just enough for her to squeeze through it. The fifty metres from that spot to the door might as well be fifty thousand, but she managed to make her body move across the slippery stone path, up the few stairs, and over the threshold into the dry warmth of the lobby.

They were all there: Mother, Father, and Kal, standing in a comical half-circle of unspoken accusations – all frowning, all with their arms crossed, all tense.

With numb yet pins-and-needly fingers that shook badly enough to be dramatic, she pulled the soaking wet and heavy hood from her messy, sweaty hair. “Hey,” she said, her voice broken and hoarse and weirdly gravelly. “I’m back.” That was when her knees finally gave and the world was drowned out in blackness.

 

* * *

 

 

**6** **When Illura came to, she was lying in bed in her old room. Her throat was still a little sore, and her body felt heavy,** but otherwise, she was basically cured. Her nose hurt a bit, but okay. She’d probably broken it falling down, and it had been promptly mended. Ah, the wonders of high-class medicine. It wasn’t as if poorer people didn’t have any access to anything such as the poor souls up on Karon Kill (and just thinking about Korr made her stomach clench badly), but the level of healing technology available to those in higher positions was something else. The explanation given for this discrepancy was that the higher-ups were in charge of leading Krypton and needed to function at all times, but Illura had always thought this was crap. Yes, she knew that resources were limited. Yes, she knew that life wasn’t fair. But at least she didn’t sugar-coat reality. If it were up to her, everyone would profit equally from what was available, but that was a whole other fight, and her own resources were limited, as well. Her goal was to bring freedom of choice back to her people. Everything else would have to wait.

She’d been lying in her fluffy, comfortable bed, feeling a little guilty about how nice it was to be effortlessly relaxed whilst her friends and comrades-in-arms (poor Korr and his broken ankle! She hoped he was coping ) scraped a living off rocks and existed in squalor. Her room was big and bright and cheery, just like she had been as a child. Her mother had, once she’d hit puberty, joked that there must’ve been a glitch in the Codex when her DNA was programmed, because once Illura became a teenager, she’d turned sullen and moody. Illura herself had always argued that all she’d done was start to ask questions, but now, as an adult, she knew that that assessment hadn't been precisely accurate. Yes, she really had been quite dramatic. Yes, she’d whined a lot. Yes, she’d been typical that way and not nearly as unique as she’d fancied herself.

Rolling her eyes, she marvelled at how easy it was to fall back into old and trusted patterns.

That was when the ellanium door slid open and Kal stepped in, holding a tray with a steaming mug and bowl on it. Ah, Father’s patented illness recipe: tea and soup. He was a bit sentimental that way, but Dom-Linn never passed up on the opportunity to be nurturing to his kids, even when he was at odds with them. It must have been torture for him and Mother, not knowing what their daughter was up to, being under the government’s scrutiny because of Illura’s actions.

Her innards knotted. She bit her tongue, tried to ignore the ugly sting of a guilty conscience. With everything going on, she’d quite forgotten to worry about her family, just brushing them off as conformist idiots. The truth, however, was always more complicated. Laboriously and with trembling and rubbery arms, she pushed herself into a sitting position, propped her pillows up behind herself, and leaned back with a sigh. She gave Kal, who was still standing by the door like a statue, holding onto that tray like it was a shield, a pointed look. “You can come closer, you know. I won’t try to take you hostage.”

That did it. A smile spread across his face, even though he was obviously trying to suppress it, and he crossed the distance between the door and the bed without hesitation. He sat down and carefully placed the tray on her outstretched legs, atop the heavy and thick duvet. “Smells like home, doesn’t it?”

She inhaled deeply, eyes closed, before smiling at him. Just being in the same room with him made her feel light and youthful and carefree despite the circumstances. It had been a while since she’d allowed herself to miss her big brother. “Vegetable soup and red tea. The enticing sirens of nostalgia beckon to me.”

He snickered, shook his head, and ran his fingers through his short, brown hair. “You and your drama.”

“Me and my drama,” she echoed, and sighed theatrically again, before starting to eat. It tasted just like she remembered, and it made her wish that her parents would come in as well, even if they couldn’t find any kind words for her.

“So good to have you back,” he said after a good long while, and briefly caressed the back of her head. “I knew you’d come home at some point. Our parents wouldn’t believe me, but here you are, back again. Everything’s gonna be better, now.”

She put down the spoon, picked up the mug, and gave him a thoroughly unhappy look. There it was again, the heaviness. “Remember how you told me that I was only rebelling for rebellion’s sake?”

A slight frown creased his forehead. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Lu, but the fact that you came back proves that-”

“ _I didn’t_. I’m only here because I had no other choice.”

An awkward silence ensued, during which they just gawped at each other, searching for words.

At length, the cubit obviously dropped, and his pupils widened. Then, he blew out a heavy breath. “They were right. It really was you.”

“I’m _not_ sorry,” she said, sounding sharper and more petulant than she’d intended. After telling herself to cool it and after taking another few sips of the tea, she added, “I won’t debate my opinions with you, Kal. I know you don’t agree with me. I know that you-”

“But I do agree.”

She nearly dropped the mug. A good number of seconds ticked by, during which she just stared at him, gobsmacked. “What.” It came out deadpan and not as the befuddled question she’d expected.

He shrugged, scratched his neck, tried to sort out his hair with his fingers again. “Don’t get me wrong: I think uploading everything you stole into the public feed was an impulsive and stupid move, because you have no idea what you’ve started. You can’t. It reeks as a move of desperation. I know you, Lu. This is totally something you’d do if you felt cornered.”

“This is the part where you tell me how exactly you agree with me,” she said flatly.

His expression remained serious. “I used to think that following orders and ensuring Krypton’s safety was a straight-forward affair, and that asking questions was akin to treason. But there’s been so much going wrong lately, I can’t help but wonder if we wouldn’t be better off with more choices. The law’s supposed to be clear-cut, but the way it’s enforced by Tryon Hill is not how it’s supposed to go. It’s not what benefits the people best, but what Zod and the likes of him _believe_ is best.” He licked his lips and chewed on the inside of his cheek. His gaze was unfocussed, as if he were having trouble looking her in the eye. “You know about the temple that was dug out of Borok Hill?”

“Yes,” she said, hesitant. This behaviour of his was weirding her out somewhat, truth be told.

“Do you also know that they might’ve found Var-El’s engine in there?”

Again, her jaw dropped. A chill crept down her spine. Acid sloshed in her stomach. Gooseflesh erupted all over her skin. “ _What_.”

He scratched his neck again and glanced up at the beige ceiling. “Yes. It might just be a model, but preliminary examinations have yielded some very disconcerting results. You’d think that the person most qualified to deal with this would be Jor-El, since he’s the top scientist and also Var-El’s descendant, but no. The thing is safely tucked away at the bowels of Tryon Hill, and this security leak is just the excuse Zod and his rabid sidekick need in order to keep it there forever, or worse, use it for their own advantage.”

Her thoughts were racing. How…could this…were they…oh, dear. She took a few deep, steadying breaths. “We need to get that thing, Kal. _Kal_.” She grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “We need to get that thing.”

Finally, he locked eyes with her again. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and the bridge of his nose. He blanched. “They’d catch us.”

“Not necessarily. You work there. They don’t suspect you.” She frowned. “Or do they?”

His one-eighty on the subject was a little off, after all, and he’d never been that great an actor. “No. But it’s a suicide mission, Lu, and completely insane. Also, what makes you think I’d commit treason?”

“The same thing that made me upload the info onto the public feed,” she said, and smiled grimly. “Desperation.”

He rubbed at his forehead. “They’ll find out it was you in no time. You need to get the hell out of here.”

By his wording, she surmised that their parents hadn't given her up to the authorities, which gave her a mild case of the warm and fuzzies. Telling herself to focus, she said, “No. No, no, no. Let them catch me.”

“ _What?_ Are you crazy? You’re crazy.”

She took his hand into hers. “Let them catch me. Not only will this make you lot look good, but I got a plan.”

The expression on his face made him look like he was expecting an electric shock. “I was afraid you were gonna say something like this.”

 

* * *

 

 

**7** **There were cameras all over Kandor. Not everyone was comfortable with the idea of being watched whenever they set foot outside their homes,** but it was a necessary measure. Public security was more important than anyone’s wish for anonymity, and most people could agree on this, in Faora’s experience. Now, even the most doubtful critics of public surveillance would just have to admit that it was a necessary tool to ensure the safety of the populace. If anyone could still doubt that whatever measures were taken to keep Krypton safe were justified, they were clueless fools and worthy of nothing but disdain. In light of what was currently happening, Faora could honestly not understand how anyone could still oppose the Warrior Guild and call themselves patriots. It made no sense.

Then again, the adherents of the Cult of Rao and their disruptive actions made exactly zero sense to her, either. There was just no arguing logically with some people.

The upload of the information to the public feed had been a shock, but she was a soldier and trained to deal with the unexpected, including unexpected catastrophes. Assessing the entire scope of the damage done wasn’t possible yet, but damage control measures were already being implemented. Her personal task was to find the traitor in their midst, and the easiest way to do that was to find out who was responsible for the upload. She got the feeling that this had not been the original plan. It was too risky an action, too desperate. That was something that worked in her favour, this desperation. Desperate people made mistakes, such as accessing classified information at a public computer port. Those were always watched by several cameras, too.

The person responsible had displayed a modicum of cleverness by covering their face and never looking up, as well as not leaving prints. Still, it would only be a matter of a few hours at the most before all data collected at the port and the surrounding cameras could be sorted, and the culprit’s steps be retraced. Then, they’d be caught, and then, the traitor would be unmasked.

The lieutenant general was right: the time to tip-toe had come and gone. Now was the time to act decisively and fearlessly and to finally end any and all threats to Krypton and her people.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lara mulls the situation over, whilst Kalan and co. get taken to Tryon Hill for questioning.

 

**1** **It was getting dark and the storm was howling, with endless bolts of white lightning thundering across the sky over the roiling ocean,** when Lara was finally allowed to take a shuttle back to the Citadel. Since Cam hadn't been cleared to return to his downtown guesthouse, she quickly convinced the officer in charge of suspiciously watching her every move to allow her to shelter the upset Erkolian in her home. The officer checked with a superior, whom Lara suspected of being Faora, and then kindly agreed to grant Lara’s request.

The flight back to the Citadel was a rocky one due to the gusts of wind, the thick cover of storm clouds, and the heavy rain, and poor Cam was visibly nauseous the entire time. Once they were inside the building, she led him to the reading room, sat him down, and put a goblet of green wine in his hands.

“Drink this. It’ll make the queasiness go away.”

A little green around the gills but otherwise ghostly pasty, he accepted, nodded his thanks, and sipped the crisp and fresh liquid. After a moment of comfortable silence, during which they both just sat opposite each other drinking their wine, he finally took a deep breath, smiled, and said, “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s magnificent.”

She returned his expression warmly. “Thank you. My husband and I like to have something nice to offer our guests.”

He looked at her squarely. The dim, bronze-tinged lighting in the room made it seem like his eyes were shining. His hair was dishevelled, and his cheeks slightly flushed. “Do you entertain many guests?”

“What a question,” she said, leaning back in her armchair and scrutinising him closely. “But yes, we do. Even odd birds such as Jor-El and myself have friends.” It was useless to wonder why he hadn't come home yet, due to both the security situation and the weather. Lara tried not to waste time being worried; if there turned out to have been no reason, the worry would have been a waste of time, and if there turned out to _be_ a reason, worrying wouldn’t change a single thing.

Her reply made him snicker. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything unpleasant.”

“Of course not. You were just curious, and I was joking.”

“Hm,” he made, nodded, crossed his legs, cleared his throat, and sipped his wine again. “It’s just that given your husband’s reputation, I can’t imagine that there would be many work colleagues or Warrior Guild members willing to spend any more time with him than necessary.”

Bluntness of this kind was not something Lara was used to from her Artisan Guild colleagues, and she wasn’t sure whether to find his attitude refreshing or insulting. But he was her guest, and she always encouraged her guests to speak their minds. “What kind of reputation does my husband have, then?”

“Oh? I, uh…I…” He trailed off, chuckled awkwardly, broke off eye-contact. “I thought you were aware of the fact that…well…”

“Yes?” She wasn’t going to let him off the hook this easily. Besides, this was a good way to probe; depending on what these rumours surrounding Jor were, finding out more might be a life or death situation these days – with this political climate, everything was possible.

He surreptitiously glanced at her. “That your husband supports the Cult of Rao dissidents.”

It felt like a bucket of cold water to her face, but Lara showed no outward signs of distress. She was no fool and perfectly aware that Jor was fond of butting heads with those he disagreed with. She also knew that he, as a scientist, was programmed to ask questions, and that this propensity had got him into some degree of trouble with the Law Council – his dismissal, for one. But if a mosaic expert from Erkol knew of illustrious Jor-El as a rebel supporter, than that meant Jor was right in the eye of the storm. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. My husband does not support rebellion of any kind. He is a scientist. He questions. That is part of his profession. Whatever you heard, it was blown out of proportion.”

An awkward silence ensued. At length, he said, “I’m sure it was,” and downed the rest of his wine.

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **When Faora finally pieced together the puzzle that was the terrorist’s identity, she immediately headed to the bullpen,** where she found the lieutenant general speaking with a group of computer technicians whose direct superior was Captain Kal-Linn, the culprit’s older brother. Zod spotted her marching through the thick ellanium doors almost immediately. Some tension drained from his posture after he saw the expression on her face that clearly signalled triumph. It wasn’t as if Faora emoted all too much, but they’d been working closely together for so long, he just knew her, and vice-versa. That was a comforting thought. With him, she didn’t need to waste time with pointless politeness or social protocols that made no sense or difference. With him, she could just be who she was without masks, without pretence, without explanations. It was a relief, to be sure. As an orphan who only bore her father’s family name instead of his full name, as was the custom for Kryptonian women, she didn’t have a family to go home to and confide in. It wasn’t as if she missed it. This was her life, and she rejoiced in it. Blubbering and whining had never helped anyone, and Faora was not the type of person to waste any tears on anything, anyway – not if she could help it.

Still, working for someone who knew her better than anyone else and who appreciated her because of this, not despite of it, was a good thing.

“Faora,” he said, as she came to a halt right in front of him, just short of pushing two of the computer technicians out of the way. “You have good news.”

She returned his subtle expression and nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes, sir. If you’d please join me in my office?” There was no need to blurt out sensitive information where everyone could hear it. Little later, when they were behind closed doors, she said, “It’s known dissident Illura Dom-Linn.”

His brow creased somewhat as he looked down at her. “Do you know where she is?” It was good that he didn’t even think about asking her if she was sure; he just knew, and he trusted her.

Again, she nodded. “Yes. She went to her family estate.”

The frown steepened. “How long ago was this?”

“Four hours.”

“Four hours.” He slowly shook his head and crossed his arms. “The emergency channel is open to officers. Captain Linn should have called.”

“According to the footage we could piece together, as well as information we got from the owner of the guesthouse she stayed at, Illura Dom-Linn was very ill. I imagine her family would want to ensure her well-being on one hand, and on the other they most likely assume that we will find out about her acts and whereabouts, anyway. She’s not going anywhere, and the family don’t seem to be trying to find ways to smuggle her out of the city.”

The look he gave her was one of mild surprise. “You still believe the culprit to be Major Venn.”

Aided and egged on by his friend Jor-El, no doubt, but this was not the right time to tell Zod this. No, she needed hard evidence if she wanted to implicate the scientist. “Yes, sir. Still, I would never ignore other avenues of inquiry just because of my personal belief.”

Again, he gave her that almost invisible, but completely genuine little smile. “I know that, Faora.”

She couldn’t help but do the same. “Let me contain Dom-Linn’s daughter at her home by sending over some soldiers. I myself would like to gather my prime suspects for the traitor and have them questioned right here.”

“I don’t care about the legality of your methods. I don’t care that the Law Council might not approve of how quickly and efficiently we deal with this issue without debating it endlessly,” he said, after a small pause. “What I do care about are results. Do whatever you have to, but find that traitor.”

Her smile grew just the tiniest bit. “Yes, sir, I will.”

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **It was already pitch-black outside when the shuttle came to take Kalan and her family to the other side of Tryon Hill for questioning.** As Kandor’s administrator, she was well aware of the fact that this move wasn’t quite legal, that public servants could only be arrested after an order had been issued by the Council, but the officer in charge told her that this wasn’t an arrest, ma’am, of _course_ not! No, no, they were only supposed to help fill in some gaps that the investigators were stumbling upon, and they’d be back home in no time.

Knowing how determined to succeed the people behind this action truly were, she allowed herself to harbour some doubt about the veracity of the officer’s statement.

After they passed the security checks at the Armed Forces HQ, they were – naturally – all separated, and Kalan was led into some subterranean questioning room that was quadrangular and dark-grey and sported only a table, two chairs, and a few surveillance cameras. Her throat was dry and her head was aching as she took a seat and waited for the inevitable. She still wanted to have faith that everything would turn out all right, especially given the fact that she was innocent, but doubts really were like ideas, and ideas really were like viruses. For half an eternity (it had to have been at least an hour), she just sat there, hands folded atop the metal table, back aching, head pounding, feet numb, lips dry.

Finally, the only door to the room opened, and in stepped Faora, carrying a glass of water, which she placed in front of Kalan before taking a seat. She offered Kalan an almost imperceptible but twice as dishonest smile that was clearly supposed to be reassuring. “You are not under arrest, Administrator.”

Kalan wondered how self-aware Faora was of her expressions and mannerisms. It was always difficult to see oneself clearly, wasn’t it? Her own thoughts flashed to the mosaic in the temple, its perfection, and her slightly self-deprecating comments to the artist about her own work. No, it would not do to let her thoughts dwell on that, because it would lead to memories of Dunol Island and the view of the starry sky. She wasn’t on Dunol Island dreaming of distant worlds, though. She was in the stronghold of the Armed Forces, in Kandor, and outside, a terrible storm raged. A shiver slithered down her spine.

She said, “That’s good to know,” her voice flat and toneless, and picked up the glass just to have something to do.

“When our database was hacked, you were at the A.H., and there was no contact between your office and your husband’s. In fact, you never make personal calls while working, do you?”

“No. When I work, I work.” Kalan frowned. “You suspect him; that much I know. But he’s not your traitor, Lieutenant. I know that he’d never endanger public security like this.”

Faora just kept returning her look calmly. “Then who is the traitor, in your opinion?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have a suspicion, though.”

“No.”

The smile grew just a hint. “Yes, you do. I can see it in your face. You fail at basic levels of deception, Administrator.”

“That may be so, but I have no idea who messed with your sensors. Nobody I know would do such a thing.” Had that come out too quickly? Why was she still thinking about her sister? That was absurd. This whole mess had made her paranoid beyond repair.

“All right,” Faora said, unfazed. “Tell me about your visits to the Citadel.”

There was a cold, painful pang in Kalan’s stomach. “What do Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van have to do with any of this?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Faora replied, “He was very interested in Var-El’s engine. I’m not saying that the box we found in the temple really is his ancestor’s invention, but he was strongly opposed to letting us examine it.”

This was getting dangerous. Kalan felt as if she were about to step onto a frozen lake. “Jor-El is not a dissident, and neither is my family.”

“Tell me who you suspect.”

“I suspect no-one.” Her voice was a little shaky, but who could blame her? This wasn’t exactly a pleasant situation. “Lieutenant, I have always cooperated with the Warrior Guild and the Security Patrol. I have cooperated with you personally on this very project. You have no reason to hold me here, and unless you have proof that my family members are guilty, I must ask you to release us. We won’t be leaving the city any time soon and we will do anything to help you catch the true culprit.”

For a while, it didn’t seem like Faora would react at all, but finally, she said, “I told you that you aren’t under arrest. I just want to shed some light on the issue; that’s all. There’s no reason to get nervous.”

“Forgive me if I don’t share your opinion.” Kalan sipped her water and told herself to keep it together. No, she’d never thought she’d find herself being interrogated like this, but here she was, and panicking was the last thing that would help her right now – or her loves ones. “I don’t know anything, and I doubt that my family does, either. My husband is not a traitor.”

“There’s only a small handful of people who could be.”

“I wouldn’t know.” She looked down into the glass in her hands. “Maybe you shouldn’t just look at who could technically have done it. Maybe you should look closely at the why.”

“I don’t care about making excuses for terrorists.”

Kalan looked up and saw how cold Faora’s expression had grown. That was one angry woman. “I understand. But they don’t act like they do because they think it’s amusing. They have a reason. If you find the exact motivation behind the act, you’ll find your traitor.”

“What if it does turn out to be someone you love? Will you still be as eager to cooperate with us?”

Thinking about Ro and Dom and Mal, about how much she loved spending time with them, about how much warmer the world seemed when any of them was around, she forced herself to sit straight again and to relax the muscles in her face. “This is about justice,” she said, meaning not only the investigation. Jor-El and his remarks came to mind. Maybe those Rao cultists and other dissenters really did want nothing more than to be left alone. The problem was the lengths they’d go to. The even bigger problem was what achieving their goal might mean for the stability of Kryptonian society. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

But whom would she be helping? It was easy to vilify the dissidents up until one understood that they truly believed to be doing the right thing. Their methods and goals were not something Kalan could ever subscribe to, but she believed in peaceful solutions, especially when they might involve people she cared about. She still didn’t know what she’d do if she discovered that one of hers was responsible for the data theft, but she did know one thing: this was about justice, and it was her duty to defend that. She tried to convince herself that her own personal feelings were irrelevant in this.

“I know you will,” Faora said, either not picking up on Kalan’s doubts or choosing not to comment on her observations. It was probably the latter. “Now, please tell me about your visits to the Citadel.”

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **When Jor finally got home, Lara had long set up her guest in one of the guest suites, but she herself stayed in the reading room, waiting.** Half the night had passed before her wait was over. Even though she constantly told herself not to worry, she felt herself relax as he purposefully strode into the reading room, his hair wet and dishevelled, a look of pure murder on his face. She rose from her seat, walked over to him, and took him into her arms.

He hugged her back closely, buried his face in her hair, breathed in deeply. For a good long while, they just stayed like that, whilst thunder rumbled so loudly outside, it felt a little bit like the world was ending.

At length, he pulled back and gave her and unhappy look, before cupping her face, kissing her, and then going off to pour himself a glass of wine. “Do you want some?” She only shook her head. Both of them sat down. Another count of minutes later, he blew out a heavy breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and slowly shook his head. “Faora-Ul arrested Kalan Val-Ris, her husband, her sister, and her brother-in-law.”

Knowing what she knew about the Insider, Lara couldn’t help but feel cold at the revelation, even though it didn’t exactly surprise her. “You know who’s really behind these arrests, don’t you?”

“She’s the one in charge of the investigation, and I-”

“Jor.” She said this calmly, quietly. It was enough.

He gave her that thoroughly wretched look again. “I know.”

“Kalan is innocent. She has no idea who sabotaged Tryon Hill.”

“I believe so, too.” After taking a good look at his wife, he arched an eyebrow. “But you don’t believe it; you know it.”

She briefly inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Yes.”

“Please talk to me.”

“I will. First, I wish to know what exactly you have planned to do to help our friends.”

That brought a weary little smile to his face. “There’s no fooling you, is there, my love?”

“No,” she said, trying and failing to keep serious, herself. “No, there is not.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pieces begin to fall into place as both Faora's side and the rebels put their plans for victory into motion. Kalan finds something out about herself that she did not expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologise for the long hiatus. I've been going through some personal stuff and suffered a pretty persistent bout of writer's block as a consequence.

 

**1** **It was already dawning when Kalan and the others were allowed to leave the Armed Forces HQ.** Luckily, they were all given the next day off from work, and every one of them went to their own homes to get some sleep and clear their heads. Not so luckily, they had not been told what result their interrogations had yielded, or if anyone had been cleared of suspicion. As Kalan got ready for bed, her entire body feeling as heavy as lead, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from repeating themselves over and over and over again. She’d told Faora that she believed Dom, Ro, Mal, and Jor-El to be innocent of treason. Faora had just kept asking questions about the Citadel, about her talks with El and his wife, about how often Dom would spend time with them, about how she felt about Jor-El’s rebellious, inquisitive nature.

Kalan had answered the questions as politely as possible, but no matter what she said, she was pretty convinced that Faora had already made up her mind about who was guilty of what. In any case, Faora obviously believed that Jor and maybe Lara were patrons of the Cult of Rao dissidents. She also seemed to be fairly convinced that Dom was the Tryon Hill traitor, even though this made no sense to Kalan. Dom was sometimes critical of his superiors’ decisions, yes, but he was not a rebel. Yes, he was outspoken, but never rebellious, let alone seditious. He had a very strict sense of duty and believed in what he did. Dom was a patriot, through and through, giving his all for the safety and prosperity of his people. So what was Faora’s beef with him? It was hard to understand.

What did Kalan _herself_ think, though? Faora had kept harping on Dom’s connection to Jor-El and how well they got along, but that by itself didn’t mean much of anything. Kalan interacted even more often with Jor; she considered him a close friend and confidante, and she was nowhere near being a traitor. But after spending so much time listening to talk about traitors and dissidents and terrorists and conspiracies, she couldn’t help but agree with Faora on another point (the first being that neither approved of insurgencies): Kalan really did suspect someone, as much as she didn’t want to. As she brushed her short-ish curls, she watched the unhappy expression in her reflection, in the polished mirror above the bathroom sink. Her mother always said that hiding insecurities was easier to do behind a smile than a scowl, but right now, Kalan was too tired to put on any masks. If she couldn’t be herself in the confines of her own home, she’d probably end up going crazy.

Through the mirror, she saw Dom entering the bathroom.

“Good thing we’ll be able to sleep in tomorrow,” he said, stepping up to her, and putting his arms around her waist.

“I’d argue that my mind’s probably too cramped to allow my body to rest, but I’m just so…so knackered – weary to the bone. Exhausted.” There were no appropriate words to convey this feeling that she’d been drained of everything she could give, with no reserves left. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Some of the tension plaguing her back and neck fell away, as if via magic.

He had that effect on her. After placing a soft kiss on the top of her head, he said, “Just let it go tonight. Lie down, sleep, and forget that everything is horrible.”

That made her chuckle. “This is something I’ve learned to love about you, you know: your talent for pep-talks.”

“There’s simply no end to the wonders of being me.”

When she got wistful, he was always there to cheer her up, to make her feel safe and at ease. In turn, she was always the rock he could lean on when the seriousness of reality made him want to escape it. Like she always said, they complemented each other well. There was nothing like a global crisis to make people thankful for their loved ones.

She suppressed a sigh and peeled herself out of the embrace, so she could turn around and face him properly. “I do wish this would all go away, but it won’t.”

What little mirth there’d been melted off his expression. “I know, sweetheart,” he said, and took her hands into his. “I also know that you have doubts about Ro, apart from being worried about Faora’s weird obsession with proving that I’m a traitor. _None of that matters tonight_.” He added the last bit sharply, after she’d opened her mouth to protest. “Do you hear me? None of it. You are going to clear your head, go to bed, sleep, and wake up rested. Then, you can tackle the problems of the whole world. Not tonight, though. You need to recover your strength and you know it. You’ll be no good to anyone if you keel over dead.” Of course, he was right. That was the case more often than not.

This time, smiling was not a chore. She raised her face and kissed him. “I love you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Even if I’m a traitor?”

“That’s not even funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” He let go of her hands and cupped her face. “I love you, Kalan, and treason or no, I would never, ever give you up to the authorities. Maybe the Codex glitched when it programmed loyalty into my genes, since I’m a soldier and supposed to be most loyal to my planet. I don’t care. You are the most important person in my life. I want you to know that, and no, I don’t expect an answer. I won’t demand that you clarify your own position or, goodness forbid, force you to take sides. I wouldn’t do that to you. Just _know_ this. It also hasn’t escaped my notice that you haven't even asked me if I had anything to do with the data theft. I appreciate that. Actions speak much louder than words, and yours make me feel proud to have been bred to be your husband.” Without waiting for a reply, he let go of her and left.

A good number of seconds ticked away as she stood there, paralysed, staring after him in gobsmacked shock. There were so many strange, off-putting, even seditious things he’d just said, but one thing stood out in particular sharpness: she really hadn't asked him whether he was guilty. She hadn't even considered it. Truth be told, she didn’t think he had anything to do with what had happened at Tryon Hill, but he was a suspect for a reason.

He was a suspect for a reason, and she didn’t care.

She’d promised Faora that she’d help her find the truth no matter where that might lead, and she still intended to keep that promise. The real question, however, was this: if push came to shove, if one of those she loved turned out to be the guilty party, would Kalan turn them in?

Still feeling the warmth of his touch on her face, still hearing the phantom of his words ringing in her ears, she came to the terrifying conclusion that she could never bear to help condemn either Dom or Ro to the Phantom Zone. This was wrong. It was so, so wrong. It was unjust. It shouldn’t matter who the culprit was, but only that he or she got punished for the treason that they had committed. Justice should matter, not personal attachments. Those were unimportant in the grand scheme of things, since family only mattered if it existed in service of the state.

Except that this was all nonsense. Family did matter. Personal attachments mattered. Love mattered.

Feeling more lost and insecure and tiny than she’d ever had, Kalan tottered out of the bathroom and crept into bed, under the covers, wanting nothing more than to shut out the world for good. Thankfully, it only took a few minutes until a dark and deep sleep overtook her.

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **“What we should do is try to get these people out of Kandor, before they get caught by the Warrior Guild,”** Jor-El was telling his wife, his tone of voice agitated, his blue eyes feverish.

They were in the reading room: he was pacing; she was sitting. Even when they weren't discussing matters of life and death, this was often how their conversations went. Jor wasn’t much for sitting around. That’s how he phrased it. Lara just called him fidgety. A lot of people got annoyed at his urge to be constantly moving, but she’d not only got used to it; she found it endearing. This was just him being so full of energy, so driven by his own mind, that mere words could not serve as a proper outlet.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” she replied, the very picture of serenity, reclined in her armchair, relaxed and at ease. “The city is locked down. There are soldiers and SP officers everywhere. Even if we could smuggle the Insider all the other conspirators out of Kandor, there is no place they can hide.”

He stopped pacing abruptly and faced her. “We have to do something! We can’t just stand by and twiddle our thumbs!”

This was somewhat astonishing: the moment Lara had explained to Jor what she knew, he’d immediately jumped on the treason bandwagon. Anyone knew that he was unhappy with the path that Kryptonian civilisation was on, but even Lara was surprised at how readily he’d thrown all caution in the wind and simply declared himself a ready ally for the Insider.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t that surprising. Jor was a scientist. He found a subject that interested him, asked the pertinent questions, formed a hypothesis, did research, and came to conclusions. His approach to ideology and politics was no different. He’d lived his life asking questions, and now, it was as if the last piece of evidence he’d needed to answer the most important one had finally fallen into place. Jor-El was a dissident. Now that he’d finally admitted this truth to his wife (and most likely to himself), he seemed liberated.

Lara, the more level-headed of the two, decided to keep her doubts and reservations alive for the nonce. It was safer that way. “That’s not what I’m suggesting, but I _am_ suggesting caution. First and foremost, we need to keep a cool head. Everything else would be counter-productive. You should also try to rein your enthusiasm in if only because we have a guest tonight, and he should not overhear any of this.” The guest quarters were in another part of the Citadel, and the walls and doors were thick, but this was a serious matter that should not be treated lightly.

His shoulders slumped somewhat. He ran his strong fingers through his unruly mop of light-brown hair, took a deep breath, and then briefly raised his hands in a defensive motion. “I know; I know. I’m sorry.” After a small silence, he dropped himself in the armchair opposite her. “It’s hard to describe to you what’s going on in my head.” A wry little smile curved up one corner of his mouth. “You were always more gifted with words than me.”

“It’s a good thing that I know you so well, then, Jor-El,” she said, feeling compelled to mirror his expression. “I understand what you’re thinking and feeling: you’ve been unhappy with the path our society has been led down. Now that everything is coming to a head and you have the actual opportunity to do something and effect some change, you can hardly contain your joy.”

The dry smirk blossomed into a full smile: one of those that crinkled the skin around his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that without you, I’d have gone mad due to my inability to express my thoughts correctly a long time ago.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Only pretty sure?”

For a moment, they just sat there in comfortable silence, smiling at each other whilst outside, the wind howled, thunder roared, and rain pelted the Citadel’s heavy dome. It felt a little as if the world was about to crack and reveal something new and shiny and precious underneath the battered and worn-out surface. This wasn’t the end of Krypton. It might be the end of Krypton as they knew it, but that was a good thing. In days of old, people had often burned down their old, decrepit homes and built new ones atop the cold ashes of what had once seemed eternal.

He said, “What _can_ we do? It seems to me that you have put some thought into the matter long before I strode in here dramatically and full of self-importance.”

Giving him an amused look, she replied, “Well, it seems to me that the pretty plan of leverage against the government that the Insider told me about has fallen apart completely. All the conspirators will have to improvise, and at least two of them are trapped in Krypton.”

“Two?”

“Yes: the Insider who scrambled the sensors at Tryon Hill and the person who received the stolen data and uploaded it into the public network.”

“Oh.” Visibly uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat. “That would be a young woman called Illura Dom-Linn, sister of Captain Kal-Linn. At the moment, she’s confined to her parents’ house.”

That, Lara had not expected. Her eyes grew wide. “That’s…interesting. I thought that she was hiding in the mountains along with most other Cult of Rao rebels.”

He shook his head. “Apparently, she snuck into the city to get the stolen data in form of a data key, which she then uploaded out of sheer desperation. Apparently very ill, she went back home, where she’s currently recovering.”

“But if the Warrior Guild knows all this, and I’m assuming they do, then why were Kalan Val-Ris, her husband, her sister, and her brother-in-law arrested earlier in the evening? They _know_. What’s that about?”

His expression turned solemn. “It’s because of me. Faora is trying to find evidence that I’m a traitor to the system.”

Despite herself, Lara felt cold. “Then let’s do what we can to change this corrupt system, so that people like her cannot do as they please and call it public security.”

“Which leads me back to my original question.”

“Yes.” When she smiled again, it felt grim. “I have a plan.”

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **Despite the storm and her constant fear that her friends up on Karon Hill** might be flushed out by a flash flood or simply succumb to hypothermia or their compromised immune systems, Illura slept the sleep of the righteous in her soft, dry, and warm bed. Her House was affluent, their ancestral home built to last into what could be considered eternity. The occasional, loudly crashing thunder startled her awake a few times, but every time, she fell asleep again almost immediately. The sickness had taken a greater toll on her body than she’d expected.

When she woke up for good, the sun was up, and the room was flooded in yellowish-bronze light. Dust motes were dancing in the bright beams falling in through the half-open metal slats of the shutters. It was pretty. She had to admit, as she stretched her limbs and yawned heartily, that it felt like the proverbial paradise to be lying in a proper bed, in a proper house. Then, the guilt hit. If her friends (Korr and his broken leg) were still alive, then they must be going through hell. They’d survived more than one winter up in the hills, yes, but they’d been lucky in that the winters had been relatively mild and that there’d hardly been any rain or snow at all. This storm, though? It must have seemed like the end of the world up there, and here Illura was, healthy and warm and rested and just lounging in bed.

To be fair, she was probably about to either die or get whisked away into the Phantom Zone, which wasn’t anything to look forward to, to use a euphemism. None of their prospects were particularly rosy, but Illura had no intention of either being imprisoned in that living hell or of wasting away in some decaying hole up on the slopes of the Jewel Mountains. No, she’d either succeed, or she’d perish. Those were the only viable alternatives.

When the heavy door to her room slid open, she expected to see he brother, Kal; instead, her father stepped in. Illura had taken after her mother in terms of personality, but she looked a lot like Dom-Linn: they had the same lumpy brown hair, the same aquiline nose, the same plump mouth, the same light-brown eyes. Like her father, Illura was rather tall and angular, building lean but strong muscles easily. Unlike like her father, she hadn’t had access to fitness apparel, or opportunity to do any muscle-building exercise, for a long time. This meant that she’d lost a considerable amount of weight and now just looked like a husk, a sallow and shrunken shadow of her former self.

Ah, the glamorous life of a rebel!

Looking thoroughly and utterly miserable, Dom-Linn stepped into the room, let the door shut behind himself, and beheld his daughter in silence.

Illura, not one to tolerate any awkward silences, rolled her eyes and snorted. “So here I am, back home in disgrace. What will the neighbours say?” Yes, she was being a brat on purpose. Yes, it was stupid.

“I don’t care,” he said, subdued. “You’re in very serious trouble, Lu – very serious. There’s no way out.”

When she forced herself to lock eyes with him, she saw only sorrow and pain in his haggard, lined, beloved face. Her innards roiled. This was so wretched. Her righteous anger puffed out, and she sank back against the propped-up pillows. “I’m sorry.” No, she wasn’t apologising for the choices she’d made and still planned to make, but nevertheless, the sentiment was genuine. “I missed you all.” That, too, was true.

“We missed you, too,” he said, trying and failing to smile. “Your mother’s in her office, yelling at some Tryon Hill goon or other over the emergency channel. They want to arrest you. She wants you to stay here until a trial gets underway – a civilian trial.”

That was a bit of a surprise. Despite herself, Illura perked up. The knot in her gut loosened; instead, her heart started beating faster. “Oh?” Hope really did spring eternal, didn’t it?

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his expensive-looking jacket and chuckled. “Poor idiot trying to win an argument against your mother. I almost feel sorry for them.”

Gathering all her courage (she had to admit, it wasn’t all that much), she made herself say, “Will she talk to me?” It came out in an almost ridiculous, shy little squeak that sounded so adolescent, it made her flinch.

“Of course, but not before she knows what your immediate fate will be. She wants to be the bearer of good news, as meagre as the prospects might be.”

“Mother’s never been one to admit any kind of defeat.” It wasn’t criticism. This was a trait that Illura admired a great deal.

He smiled a little. “Your mother is even more of a fighter than you are, sweetie – much more than I am, in any case.”

Another small silence ensued, but this was decidedly less awkward.

Illura had to wrestle down the knot that formed in her throat. All of a sudden, she felt not only tired, but weary to the very core – broken, even. Her nose itched. Her face heated up. Her vision grew blurry. Damn it.

“Oh, baby,” Father said, hurried over to her, sat down on the edge of the mattress, and swept her into a tight embrace.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes, grabbed fistfuls of his jacket’s lapels, and burst into tears.

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **The pieces of the puzzle were all in place.** Doubt had been planted in the mind of Administrator Val-Ris about her husband. The small-time terrorist Illura Dom-Linn was contained at her family home, awaiting arrest. Jor-El’s sedition was about to be unearthed. Planetary security was being tightened, and soon, more powers would be granted to the Warrior Guild than they’d had since the Eradication. Troublemakers and dissidents would be hunted down mercilessly, the Cult of Rao eliminated, treason and even thoughts of rebellion wiped off the face of the planet. Krypton would be made safe again, made strong again. Her people would live and thrive; her culture would be protected. The populace would understand that this was the best course of action – the _only_ course of action.

To Faora, the way that the plan was unfolding was almost akin to a mosaic: a big picture composed of many small, but vitally important parts. She was sitting in her office, hours after the night shift had started, sifting through the reports of public response to many of the leaked documents. The silly comparison of her plans to an intricate work of art made the corners of her mouth twitch slightly, and she shook her head at herself. Weariness made the strangest tendencies come to light. It was slightly exasperating, but not wholly useless; after all, by paying attention to parts of her mind that she usually kept submerged, she could not only get to know herself better, but also prevent herself from lapsing into unexpected and inexplicable behaviour at the worst possible times. Knowing oneself meant being adaptable. Being adaptable meant being evolved. If there was one creed that Faora subscribed to like a theist to their superstitions, it was that evolution always won.

She leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath, and tried to relax her knotted shoulders. This work was gruelling, but it was worth it. The terrorists thought that they’d outsmarted and defeated the Warrior Guild, that their visions of chaos and uncertainty would prevail, but they couldn’t be more mistaken. No, the trap had been set and the traitors would spring it soon. Not only the Linn girl would be in custody, but Major Venn and Jor-El would be exposed for the malcontent dissidents they were, and the Warrior Guild would finally have all the power needed to keep Krypton safe. The last members of the Cult of Rao would be either re-integrated into society or condemned to the Phantom Zone. Treason would be rooted out. Society would flourish. The data leak had been a bad blow, surely, but in the end, it would prove advantageous to all true patriots. Finally, the necessary laws would be passed. There’d be no more threats to Krypton that the Warrior Guild wouldn’t be able to snuff out straightaway. Everything would turn out for the best, and Faora would not rest until final victory had been achieved.

The lieutenant general would be proud.  


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illura goes ahead with her plans, Kalan tries to work through the contradictions in her life, Zod and El butt heads at the Council, and Lara finds a surprise at the temple.

 

**1** **The morning dawned calm, sunny, and crisp,** belying the heavy storm that had rocked Kandor the previous night. Faora had hardly slept before the alarm woke her, but she wasn’t tired in the slightest when she all but jumped out of bed, showered, got ready, and headed back to Tryon Hill after having only been gone six hours in total. There was so much to do, so much to oversee, and so little time! But she had a feeling that today would be instrumental in establishing Warrior Guild control of the situation. Based on many seditious remarks uttered by individuals around the globe about the content of the leaked documents, a great number of arrests had been ordered during the night. Global communications were still down for the most part, but the children of Krypton were creative and smart. Some had found ways of hijacking the satellites in planetary orbit and re-establishing connection on a local basis for limited amounts of time, spreading more information and seditious talk. Naturally, all such attempts were stomped into the ground swiftly, but they caused undeniable damage.

To be completely candid, up until a few days ago, Faora would never have believed that so many of her compatriots were this easily swayed into rebellion, even if most of it was just in the form of words that would never spawn any actions. It was somewhat baffling to her why anyone would have gripes with how the system worked; after all, everything was structured and planned ahead for generations, which took away all doubt and uncertainty from life. It took away the fear. Every citizen had a place in the world. No-one got left behind. Every single individual was a part of a whole, and Krypton as a society only worked because everyone was included. In a metaphorical sense, Krypton _was_ the temple mosaic. One could call it a fine-tuned machine, but to Faora, it was more than that: to her, Krypton’s society was a work of art. It was flawless just the way it was. Over many millennia, Krypton had been perfected, and now, it had reached its apex. There was no more need for improvement.

There was, as it turned out, need to defend it, though. Faora and the rest of the Warrior Guild were more than up to the task, and now, they had all the motivation they needed: the very survival of their race was at stake.

She left her small flat in the big complex on Marrok Hill half an hour after waking up, took the tram, and used the half-hour trek to check her comm for developments she might have missed. Apart from some civil disobedience due to the many arrests all over the planet, nothing much had changed. There was some outrage coming from local administrations about the Warrior Guild’s plans to unite themselves with the Security Patrol and therefore being responsible for all matters of security, but this was nothing that couldn’t be remedied. After all, it was all but a done deal already, and the terrorist acts and seditious communications of the past few days only proved that the Warrior Guild needed more powers, and needed them quickly.

In an hour, Faora and Zod would speak to the Law Council to officialise the new arrangement. After that, they’d arrest Illura Dom-Linn and take in Major Venn for questioning. It would take some convincing until Zod agreed to let Faora arrest Jor-El, as well, but it would happen. She was sure of it. Meanwhile, the scientists at Tryon Hill would, despite the official protest of the Science Guild, uncover the secrets of Var-El’s engine, and after that, no-one would ever dare oppose the Armed Forces ever again. Krypton would be safe. Everything would go back to normal, and the people would understand. They had to. They wouldn’t have a choice.

When she got to Tryon Hill, things were as she had left them, so there were no more nasty surprises at least this morning. Still, this was no cause for celebration. As long as the current crisis had not been resolved, there was no relaxing; there could be no letting one’s guard down.

She found the lieutenant general down in the bowels of the installation, outside the lab where Var-El’s machine was still being analysed. “Sir.”

He only briefly nodded at her. Judging by the pallor of his skin and the dark rings around his bloodshot eyes, it was obvious to anyone that he hadn't got around to sleeping much lately. “It’s been radiating energy bursts that are, according to our scientists, only hints of what it’s capable of producing.” He frowned. “El was right: this really is the famed engine his ancestor built to end all energy problems on Krypton.”

“Which, in turn, means it has the power to destroy all life as we know it.”

The look he gave her was so dejected, so openly worried, it was more than just a little unsettling. “It must never leave Tryon Hill. It’s too dangerous.”

She nodded curtly, only once. “Of course.”

“But we can use it to end the terrorist threat, once and for all.”

Arching her eyebrows, she said, “Do you have some specific target in mind?”

“The dissident encampment on Karon Hill.”

“The Law Council will never-”

“The Law Council will understand that we did what was necessary once it’s done.”

To keep herself from appearing squeamish or indecisive, she straightened her posture and clasped her hands behind her back. “They’ll have to.”

He turned away from the transparent wall, faced her completely, and smiled subtly. “We’re doing this for Krypton, Faora. These dissidents are unrepentant criminals who must be wiped off the face of the planet. Our society cannot function with these parasites leeching off the rest of us. They need to be stopped.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s go and talk to the Council.”

She returned his expression. Yes, it really was all for the greater good. Once the secrets of Var-El’s engine had been uncovered, the terrorists would be eliminated, and peace and prosperity would return to her beloved home.

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **Despite all the strange happenings of the previous evening,** Kalan slept the black and deep sleep of the righteous. She woke up way into the morning, her internal chronometer completely out of sync. Well, apparently, she had needed it. Her headache was gone, and she felt less drained, less bleak, less hopeless. After taking a shower and making herself presentable, she headed into the kitchen and found Dom cooking breakfast.

He greeted her with a warm smile. “I was gonna wake you in fifteen minutes at the latest.”

“This is so strange,” she said, and took a seat at the set table. “How did _you_ sleep?”

“Better than in a long time, thank you.” He poured both of them some red tea and then joined her. His expression turned serious. “You’re not uncomfortable around me after the things I told you yesterday, are you?”

For a few seconds, she just looked at him in contemplative silence, but then, she shook her head, reached out, and gave his hand a squeeze. “No. I was a little shocked at first, yes, but no. I’m not uncomfortable. You’re my husband, Dom. I love you. There’s nothing that matters more to me than keeping my family safe.”

His eyes grew wide only for a second before he managed to recompose himself. “That might create complications.”

She looked down at her plate. “I’ll deal with that when I have to. I won’t stop looking for the truth, you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s just that I…” She trailed off and shrugged, feeling a little lost. “I could never condemn either you or Ro to the Phantom Zone, no matter what you did. I understand that now.”

“You think it’s her, don’t you?”

“I can’t shake the suspicion,” she said, giving him an unhappy look. “This is so wretched. I promised Faora that I’d help her find the culprit, and I do think that terror is not the answer to anything. But I couldn’t be part of the fate that Ro would have to suffer. How could I ever? It’s not possible. So yes, it’s complicated, and I’m completely at a loss. I have no idea what to do.”

This wasn’t just about the hypothetical scenario of Ro being the Tryon Hill mole, though. In all her life, Kalan hadn't even dreamed possible that she might ever consider taking a course of action that was not for the greater good. There wasn’t any way to spin this positively, either. A crime had been committed, and a serious one at that. This security breach had uncovered rather unsavoury takeover plans from the Warrior Guild, yes, but also much more sensitive information. Even if that hadn't been the case, the leak itself had caused a global uproar, vocal dissent from a surprisingly large faction of the populace, and even some acts of vandalism. Part of Kalan agreed with Faora in that she believed that the Security Patrol and the Warrior Guild needed more power and authority to act quickly – a substantial part, as a matter of fact. Kalan had never questioned the system in her life. She loved her life and didn’t want to change anything about it.

And yet, here she was, racking her brain over her potentially guilty sister. She disapproved of terrorist acts and believed the culprits needed to be punished, but still, she would probably become an accomplice if the culprit turned out to be a family member. That was a contradiction that was extremely hard to stomach.

“I want to go to the Citadel later,” she said, after a longer pause. “I feel the need to talk to Jor and Lara.”

“Because you think that they can help you clear your head, or because you think that they sympathise with the dissidents?”

She frowned slightly at him. “That’s not funny.”

Smirking, he leaned in and pecked her cheek. “I’m sorry. I know how much you care about them, how much you respect their opinions. It was only the abortive attempt at a humorous remark. Ignore me.”

That made her smile. “It’s a good thing you’re not a poet.”

“True.” He took a sip of tea. “How about you make use of your free day and work on your mosaic?”

Her mind returned to the great temple, and her heart felt heavy. In a different world, the wonders of that bygone age would now be shared with the people, and they would all be able to profit from a better understanding of their own culture. Reality had, it seemed, other plans. “That’s a good idea,” she said, instead, and rubbed at her eyes. “Just let the mind wander. I’ll head over to the Citadel later.”

“Good plan. I’ll fuss over my model ships, whilst you make the world a more beautiful place.” He smiled again. “But then again, that’s what you do by just existing.”

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **It was almost noon when Illura felt good enough to get out of bed.** She took a long, wonderful shower, put on some of her old clothes, and hesitantly left her bedroom to head into the living area. Her parents weren't there. Father had left the house earlier; that, Illura knew. Presumably, her mother was still locked in her office, yelling at the authorities who wanted to incarcerate her daughter. This was, Illura had to admit, strangely touching. It probably wouldn’t change a damn thing, though. The situation was bad, and it was declining. The Law Council was growing complacent, and the Warrior Guild was grabbing more and more power. There was no way that Illura, who had uploaded the entire Tryon Hill database to the public newsfeed, would get a civilian trial. Oh, no, this was a matter of military security, and they would insist they handle the matter.

The thing was, as little as she wished to be whisked away by Armed Forces goons, she really needed to get into Tryon Hill. She absolutely needed to get her hands on Var-El’s engine. Only then would the Cult of Rao have the leverage that they needed so badly to ensure their own survival, their freedom of choice. Besides, the military should absolutely not be in possession of a device that could be misused as a weapon of mass destruction. The problem wasn’t that the military would apply the weapon for bad reasons. The problem was that they’d believe they had the best of reasons, and that they were the epitome of righteousness. That was the inherent fallacy they all fell victim to, wasn’t it? Everyone was so convinced that they were right. Everyone had the best motivations. Everyone had the best reasons.

In this case, self-awareness was not the first step to self-improvement. The likes of Faora and Zod might think they were right until they turned purple. No, regarding this matter, Illura was the one in the right. What she wanted, _all_ she wanted was freedom of choice for everyone. As she walked into the kitchen for something to nibble on, her mind wandered to Korr. At the moment, all she could do was hope that he was still alive. He’d been against this hare-brained plan of hers. Now, here she was, having to improvise, and her friends were forced to bide their time and hope for a highly improbable positive outcome.

It was almost convoluted enough to be funny – almost.

In the kitchen, she found a loaf of black bread, ripped off a piece with her hands, and started munching on it, right by the kitchen counter.

“It was probably too much to hope for, thinking the outlaw life might teach you how to use a knife.”

She turned around to her brother, swallowed her mouthful of bread, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and smirked. “If anything, my manners got even worse.”

“You look much better – less like a corpse and all.” He motioned at her with a jerk of his chin. “Maybe sleeping it off cleared your head, too…you know, of all the nonsense you were babbling yesterday.”

She made a face. “Not a chance, mister. I’m following through with this, and you are helping me.”

His shoulders slumped. He rubbed at his eyes, then let his hands drop to his sides. “Lu…”

Not having any of it and using her usual tactic of avalanching people before they knew what was even happening, she put down her half-eaten piece of bread, crossed the distance to where Kal was standing, and grabbed him by the shoulders. “We have no choice. I have _not_ come all this way for nothing, and you know that we can’t allow them to have the machine.”

Returning his look squarely, he replied, “I’m still one of them, lest we forget.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head with vehemence. “No, Kal. You’re not. You’re on the side of reason.”

“Almost everyone would argue that reason is abiding by the law.”

“By a law that takes away all our choice? That weeds out any and all opposition, no matter how harmless? We are not Krypton’s enemies. We’ve been pushed to the fringes of society because we don’t conform, and then, they label us terrorists and enemies of the people. You can’t agree with this and you don’t. Remember what you told me only yesterday?”

The look he gave her was one of utter misery. “I know, and you’re right. You’re right.”

Relieved not to have lost her only available ally, she breathed out sharply and snickered, nervous. “Then we’ll go through with our plan?”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. Colour drained from his face. He locked eyes with her. “Yes, we’ll go through with our plan.”

“Good.” She let go of his shoulders and took his hands, instead, squeezing them. “Then let’s get started.”

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **Despite the tenseness of the current situation,** the Law Council granted Lara and Cam permission to return to the excavation site and resume their work inside the temple. After all, there were many smaller objects to catalogue, and the mosaic was in dire need of restoration. The Council didn’t give any particular reason for this decision, but Lara chose not to question a good thing for once. There was enough cause for worry as it was. This was probably just due to the fact that security crisis or no, Krypton couldn’t simply come to a screeching halt. Life had to go on. It wasn’t exactly business as usual, but it was still business. Besides, Lara had the sneaking suspicion that the Council just wanted this temple business to be over and done with, and the hubbub to cease. This was another sentiment Lara could certainly get behind, even though she found it somewhat disheartening. Usually, she would just tell herself that once things calmed down and the so-called terrorists were found, everything would go back to normal. Now, though, she was an active part of forces that didn’t want anything to go back to normal.

All right, maybe that wording was a tad overdramatic.

She still wasn’t sure whether she agreed with the methods the Insider and the other rebels were using, but no-one had been hurt, the plans of the Warrior Guild to swallow up the Security Patrol and award themselves emergency powers had been unearthed, and some critical dialogue amongst the populace had been started. All in all, this wasn’t such a bad thing. The Council and much of the population believed that absolute control was preferable to uncertainty, but Lara found herself agreeing more and more with her husband: what good was prosperity when there wasn’t any choice?

After Jor left the Citadel for the A.H. to go to a meeting with the Law Council and Warrior Guild top brass, Lara and Cam took a shuttle to Borok Hill. Cam was quiet and rather fidgety, and Lara couldn’t exactly blame him. The whole situation was unnerving, and she suspected that he felt a little bad about all but calling Jor a traitor in the latter’s own home.

“Just focus on the work,” she told him, as they disembarked the shuttle and started the tiresome routine of security checks. “That always helps.”

Squinting in the pale sunlight, his features contorted into something that was probably supposed to be a smile. “I’ll try.”

After nearly an hour, they headed inside and finally started to do their jobs.

 

* * *

 

 

**5** **When Faora followed Zod inside the cavernous, ancient, venerable Council chamber,** her spirits were immediately dampened by the sight of Jor-El, who was already engaged in what looked like a heated discussion with the High Eminence, Ro-Zar. Faora exchanged a knowing look with her superior, whose narrowed eyes and set jaw clearly signalled his own disapproval. Good. The more displeased Zod became with El, the easier Faora’s job would become. El was a traitor. He and his ideas were threats that needed desperately to be contained.

“…that the numbers are clear and unmistakeable! If you go ahead with this plan, you’ll be condemning our world _to death!_ ” El was all but screaming at the Eminence. “How can you be so blind?”

“Watch your tone, Jor-El,” the Eminence returned coldly. “You are mistaken: there is no believable evidence to prove that tapping the core for energy will do any kind of environmental damage, let alone anything as dramatic as you are proposing.”

El pointed at himself. “You’re accusing _me_ of being dramatic? I’m a scientist. I’m doing my job. I deal with facts, not with economic concerns. This method of producing energy may be cheap, but in the long run, it will ruin Krypton! Please, I beg you to look past the economy and short-term profit and just look at the scientific facts!”

“So-called facts spouted by scientists with a specific agenda,” the Eminence countered calmly. “ _Our_ job is to guarantee everyone’s prosperity, to make sure we all have access to enough energy, to make sure that there are jobs for everyone. Do you have a viable alternative, El?”

That was when El obviously noticed the new arrivals approaching. He glanced at them over his shoulder and then pointed at them. “Ask _them_. They hold the only source of energy we’ll ever need in the bowels of Tryon Hill.”

All the Councillors’ eyes were on Zod and Faora. The former marched to El’s side, and said, “We are currently testing the artefact engraved with the House of El’s crest in our safe laboratories, yes, but we’ve not yet been able to confirm Jor-El’s suspicions.”

El gave him a cold look. “Oh, haven't you? Do you care to share what you _have_ confirmed? I only ask because you, a soldier, are keeping what is obviously a scientific matter away from the Science Guild.”

It was Faora who explained, “The box radiates some kind of energy that is potentially harmful. We are keeping it safe for security reasons. The minute its harmlessness is determined, we’ll-”

“Oh, _can_ it, Lieutenant. Nobody’s buying your platitudes,” El cut in, angry and dismissive, waving off.

She was barely able to hold back a sharp reply, knowing that if she allowed herself to make a retort now, disaster might ensue.

Zod glared at him. It was a talent he mastered to perfection. “Don’t let your frustration out on us. We’re containing a potential threat. Even if the machine is Var-El’s engine, we can’t simply hand it over. In the wrong hands, it could be used as a weapon of mass destruction.”

“And who’s to decide whose hands are right or wrong, Zod?” El shot back, looking squarely at his old friend, eyebrows raised. “You?”

“At the moment, yes,” Zod said, unimpressed. “This is still a security matter, and we are responsible for security.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned away from El and addressed the Council, “I haven't come here to squabble over an ancient relic, but to ask that the Warrior Guild be given the necessary authority to combat the threat of the Cult of Rao terrorists.”

El stared at him, incredulous. “You cannot be serious.”

“On the contrary: I couldn’t be more serious about anything.”

“This matter is none of your concern,” Faora said sweetly. “Or is there some sort of science in meddling with global security affairs that I’m not aware of?”

“Something of this magnitude concerns everyone, Lieutenant.”

“ _Enough!_ ” Zod cast his old friend a black look, then focussed his attention on the Councillors again. “I haven't got any time to waste on pointless debates. Inform us of your decision.”

A small silence ensued. El was seething, hands balled into fists, whilst the Eminence and the other Councillors exchanged wary looks. That was when it dawned on Faora: they had decided against the motion. Acid sloshed in her stomach. She clenched her teeth. Weaklings. They were all weaklings who had no business deciding the fate of Krypton.

The Eminence looked Zod in the eye, and said, “We’ve debated this issue thoroughly, General, and have come to a unanimous conclusion: we cannot grant you any more powers than you already have.”

The silence that followed was stony. It seemed as if the temperature dropped several degrees.

Zod’s eyes narrowed. He blanched. “You can’t do this.”

“I’m afraid we can. Krypton functions as well as it does due to a very fragile checks and balances system. Give any branch too much power, and the metaphorical boat will be upset; it will sink. You strive for order, yes? But with too much power, you’ll be in a position to decide what that order is, and we cannot allow that to happen.”

He gnashed his teeth together and advanced on the Eminence, whose High Seat was placed at the centre of a semi-circle of ornamented, metal chairs. “You _fools!_ While civilisation crumbles all around you, you cling to your precious checks and balances only because you don’t want to relinquish your powers! And what for? _To debate economics and energy plans?_ _You’re_ _pathetic!_ ”

Most of the Councillors flinched.

“General, you forget yourself,” the Eminence said tonelessly. “I think it would be best if you returned to Tryon Hill and resumed your search for the traitor in your midst.”

Without another word, Zod spun around on his boot heels and stormed off, Faora following quickly. Neither said a single word until they were back in their shuttle and on their way back to the H.Q.

That was when he looked at her, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s clear to me that we cannot trust those decrepit idiots anymore. They won’t do the right thing even if the planet were to break up all around them. El is right about one thing: facts cannot sway them. Their blood lines have become degenerate, and we are the ones who have to suffer because they refuse to relinquish power to those stronger and more capable of keeping Krypton safe.”

Again, she could hardly keep herself from replying, this time out of excitement rather than anger. She knew him, though. He was getting somewhere specific, and hopefully, the next words out of his mouth would be those she’d been longing to hear for such a long time. In her opinion, he was the greatest man she’d ever met, and the only one she fully trusted. If only he’d take up the mantle of responsibility, he could be the leader they all needed. He could turn Krypton into the perfect world. He could make Krypton strong, safe, and vital again.

Leaning in a little, he said, “If the Council won’t do what is necessary to protect our people, Faora, then we will. I know I can count on you.”

It was impossible not to smile. “Yes, sir, you can.”

 

* * *

 

 

**6** **About two hours after Lara and Cam were allowed to enter the temple,** she looked up from the work of cataloguing the many smaller artefacts in the transept Var-El’s engine had been found in. She stood up straight, pressed her dusty, gloved hands to the small of her back, and stretched. This place was a treasure trove. The good thing was, none of this stuff could be considered a security risk, especially once it was removed from its religious context. The ideal scenario would be, to her, that the whole place be turned into a museum, but the likelihood of that happening was slim. The alternative was displaying the restored items found here in a regular museum, so that regular people could have at least some access to their own past.

She wiped a sweaty strand of her dark, curly hair from her pale forehead and sighed. Here she was again, trying to normalise the awfulness that were censorship and total governmental control over all areas of public and private life. How had they even reached this point? Thinking about it, really stopping to ponder it, their whole society seemed ridiculous, didn’t it? They were all wound so tightly, it was no wonder that they’d begun to unspool. Most Kryptonians didn’t mind their lack of choice, but there was, undeniably, growing dissatisfaction, and that wouldn’t just go away. On the contrary, the more pressure the government applied, the harder people would resist. It was like a law of physics.

In the main nave, Cam was working on the mosaic. He’d told her earlier that he wouldn’t deactivate the entire energy field protecting the huge work of art from potential further damage, but only in places, so he could repair the cracks that the original rockslide had effected.

Deciding that they both needed a little break and some fresh air, she started moving toward the door that would lead her to the nave. The work would take several weeks to complete, even if they hurried, which obviously neither of them wanted. If only they could convince the Council to allow more members of the Artisan Guild to join them, everything would-

The shockwave hit her square in the face. The structure groaned. There was a loud booming sound. She was tossed through the air like a ragdoll, hit the rock-face hard, and knew no more.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalan speaks to Jor-El, Illura to her mother, Lara to herself. Krypton seems to be heading ever closer to an abyss.

 

**1** **Only a few hours had gone by when Kalan decided to give the mosaic a rest and go see Jor-El at the Citadel.** She’d made some progress and, miraculously, had managed to actually distract herself from real life for a moment. Jor-El should have long returned from the A.H., and Lara was probably around, as well. Without access to a computer terminal, communications, or the news feed, there was no telling if, how, or when work at the temple excavation site would resume. One might as well make use of the forced holiday and spend some time with old friends. Kalan wasn’t a fool and realised that she’d be under surveillance no matter where she went. This might constitute a problem if Jor-El got implicated as a sympathiser of the Cult of Rao insurgents, but until then, there was nothing dodgy or even illegal about visiting him. Their families had befriended each other centuries ago, and she wasn’t going to avoid him just because Faora-Ul didn’t like him.

As she took the tram to Irrek Hill, the mount that housed the Citadel, Kalan couldn’t help but think about her ‘interview’ with Faora the night before – an interrogation by any other name, really. Kalan was pretty sure that Faora did not suspect her of treason, but that didn’t mean much, of course. It was already clear to Kalan that she would not, under any circumstances, help condemn anyone she loved to the Phantom Zone. Still, she’d promised Faora that she would help bring out the truth. Now, if she talked to Jor-El, whom Faora clearly loathed, then Faora would not only find out about it, she’d most likely want every single detail of the conversation. Normally, all Kalan had to do was say that private talks were none of the Warrior Guild’s business – normally. These were anything but normal times, however, and Kandor was on lockdown. The way things were going, it was not impossible that Kalan might get whisked away and kept under lock and key until she decided to cooperate. Who knew? Maybe they’d try to enlist her to weasel information out of Jor-El.

The thought alone made her mouth go dry and her hands clammy. She might be finding out many strange things about herself, but she knew that she was not at all ready to play spy.

When she got to the Citadel, the liquid geo security system let her in readily, welcoming her in that nondescript, emotionless female voice. Minding her manners, Kalan greeted it back. She knew that this was probably silly, but habits were hard to break, and good habits shouldn’t be. The geo told her that Jor-El was in the reading room. Kalan found him sitting in one of the armchairs, nursing a mug of fragrant herbal tea, brooding. Oh-oh.

“Jor?” Hesitantly, she stopped halfway between the high, arched doorway and the sitting area of the almost cavernous room – it was more like a hall, actually. In the Citadel, nothing was small.

He looked up at her slowly, as if waking up from deep sleep. “Kalan. Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” She took the offered seat opposite him and scrutinised him carefully. “If I’ve come at a bad time, just say it. I won’t be offended.”

A subtle smile lightened up his features. “Not at all. As a matter of fact, I welcome the distraction. I tend to get lost in my own brooding when Lara isn't there to yank me out of it.”

“She’s working?”

He nodded. “At the temple, with the Erkol artisan.” Again, he smiled a little. “She won’t just come out and say it, but she doesn’t like him very much; I can tell.”

“That kind of thing happens.” She didn’t want to be overly dramatic, but his downtrodden, gloomy behaviour was a bit unsettling to her. This wasn’t how she knew him. To her, Jor-El was energetic and determined and impossible to discourage. Something bad must have happened. Would it be appropriate to ask? The problem was, these days, everything concerned all of them. Not much room for propriety was left. She made herself say, “Do you want to talk about what’s weighing on your mind?”

“I didn’t mean for it to be this obvious, but we can’t always have what we want, can we?” After exhaling deeply, he scratched his forehead and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. “No, we can’t.” The look he gave Kalan was utterly miserable, even though he was clearly trying to hide it. “I just met with the Law Council. They want to go ahead and tap Krypton’s core for energy.”

Kalan’s stomach felt as if it had turned into a rock. Her mouth felt dry. For a moment, she just stared at Jor-El, paralysed. “But…the research committee, they…that could break up the planet! The evidence, it…I…” She trailed off and shook her head slowly. This couldn’t be true. It just _couldn’t_.

“I know. They don’t care. There’s a growing energy crisis that will become global in a few years, and the mounting hardships are causing some amount of civil unrest in the more affected areas. Besides, with everything else going on right now, the Council wants to look not only in charge, but also competent. They want the people to see that their concerns are being addressed and that things are being taken care of.”

“If our planet explodes, there won’t _be_ a people to take care of.” Kalan pressed her lips together and took a few deep, soothing breaths. “This is _terrible_. It’s as if the Council were taking advantage of the Cult of Rao crisis in order to push their legislation through with the least amount of resistance.”

Jor-El snorted derisively. “Isn't that always the case? During the Eradication, many laws were passed with little fanfare, because basically everyone was worried about simply surviving.”

It made Kalan a little uncomfortable, listening to this, as she didn’t feel either of them to be in a position to criticise their forebears. After all, before the Eradication, things had been rather chaotic on Krypton: violence, corruption, and terror had abounded. The Eradication had changed all that and set the foundation for the peaceful, progressive, contented society of modern Krypton. Then again, maybe everything that glittered was not gold after all. Jor-El was not the only person with misgivings about how the planet was run, everyone’s lives regulated. Still, the way that Jor-El almost casually led the conversation toward sedition made her a little twitchy.

She said, “These are really disconcerting news, Jor. We have to do something. Tomorrow, we can get together with the science committee and set up a presentation for the Council. If they take a very good look at the evidence, they’ll see that they simply _cannot_ go through with these plans.”

“We’ll try, but it won’t do any good.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, before sipping his tea again. “Let’s worry about it tomorrow, then. I’m sorry for hijacking the conversation like this. You are the one who was arrested yesterday.”

Oh, yes. What with all the potential planet-exploding, she’d almost forgotten about everything else that was plaguing her. Feeling herself frown, she said, “I was questioned, not arrested, and before you protest: I’m not correcting you because I’m pedantic, but because I must warn you. Faora-Ul suspects you of sedition and is hell-bent on finding evidence against you.” She shifted her weight in her seat. “You’re not the only one under suspicion, though. Faora is fairly convinced that Dom is the Tryon Hill insider who made the information leak possible.”

A small, but heavy silence ensued.

Jor-El beheld her with an unreadable expression on his face. The only obvious emotion was a complete lack of surprise. He shrugged, saying, “I already knew that she suspects me.”

“It’s news to me, to be honest. I always thought you were friends with General Zod.”

“Well,” he said, looking away for a moment, “I thought so, too. I’m no longer so sure. It seems as if our worldviews are no longer all that compatible.”

“People grow apart,” she said, wistful. “Look at me, for example: Faora suspects Dom, and here I am, unable to shake the feeling that the culprit is my own sister.”

That certainly caught his attention. His eyes went wide. “You suspect your _sister_? Really?”

She knew he didn’t mean it, but somehow, she suddenly felt foolish for having racked her brain over Ro’s possible involvement and potential banishment to the Phantom Zone. Staring down at her hands, she said, “I realise how silly this must sound to you. I haven't been sleeping well, and-” She interrupted herself as both her and Jor-El’s comm units blared their emergency alarm.

Startled, both produced the units out of their respective pockets.

When Kalan read the message on the unit’s display, her blood turned to ice. Her stomach was in knots. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be!

Jor-El was paralysed, frozen. All colour drained from his face. His blue eyes were huge.

There had been an explosion at the excavation site. Lara had been buried under the rubble.

 

* * *

 

 

**2** **Kal was absolutely right: voluntarily letting oneself get arrested by the Warrior Guild for treason was completely insane.** Insanity, however, wasn’t just the flavour of the month: it was Illura’s last resort. Of course, she could just hang tight and let her mother try to get her to have a civilian trial, but that was never going to happen; they all knew that, deep down. So why not try to make the best of an inevitability, then? The original plan had been shot to shreds, anyway. They needed to improvise. Who knew? Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Maybe it was just a ludicrous hope born of desperation. Either way, she was going through with it, no matter what.

_They’ll interrogate you_ , Kal had told her. _They’ll get all the information out of you, and there won’t be a thing you’ll be able to do to stop it_.

_Yes, I know, but they won’t have time for any of it_ , she’d replied, feeling much less confident than she’d sounded. _If you do your part_.

_If I do my part and the person whose identity you don’t even know miraculously deduces based on nothing that you need help…and what kind of help it is you need_.

Yes, yes, yes. Kal had a point. Of course he had a point. But desperate times and all that. Choices, choices. Illura had made hers. She wouldn’t say that she was able to predict what was going to happen to her, but having a plan – any plan at all – was a million times better than sitting around, awaiting an uncertain fate. That was something she’d never been able to do. Sitting quietly had never been her forte, no matter what for. This had always driven her instructors up the wall – her parents, too.

Her parents. Oh, well. It was time to face the music. Suppressing a sigh and bracing herself, she approached her mother’s office door and knocked. This was so ridiculous: her heart was hammering, and her mouth was dry. So much time had gone by, and Illura and Nell Lon-Zar hadn't exactly parted on amicable terms. This was not the time for petty childishness, though.

Actually, it was never the time for petty childishness. That never stopped Illura from indulging in such behaviour, anyway.

The door slid open with a hydraulic hum. Trying to mask her hesitation as best as possible, Illura stepped into her mother’s office. It still looked the same: quadrangular and well-lit, its walls were covered in shelves, the shelves crammed with all kinds of books. Nowadays, most texts were available only in form of compressed data files, but Nell was a traditionalist. Most of the books, she’d inherited from her own mother, as her mother had from her grandmoter. Some of these tomes were several hundred years old; they needed constant maintenance, which was why the lighting, humidity, and temperature inside the office were not the same as in the rest of the house. The collection was priceless, and neither Illura nor Kal had ever been allowed to touch them without wearing protective gloves. Many times, Nell had been all but begged to donate at least some of her books to the state, so that they could be displayed at a museum for the people’s benefit. Nell’s answer had always, unwaveringly been no. She argued that the Council could regulate every aspect of public life to their heart’s content, but that they could not take away a person’s history.

Illura herself had mixed feelings about this, but in the end, she mostly agreed with her mother. Those were her books. Those were heirlooms of her family. They were part of her cultural identity.

Then again, it probably would benefit everyone if the books were made accessible to them.

Why did everything always have to be so complicated? It was to despair.

Nell was sitting behind her desk, fingertips pressed to her temples, pale and with bloodshot eyes. She took a deep breath, folded her hands atop the desk, and gave her daughter a solemn look. The room might not have changed much, but Nell had. She’d aged visibly since Illura had last seen her: her light-brown hair was streaked with grey, her face lined and weirdly haggard. Nell had always been a full-figured woman. She seemed to have shrunk to half her former size.

To Illura, this was like a bucket of icy water to the face. Was her mother ill? Was this simply stress? Was it Illura’s fault? Probably. Likely. Damn it.

“I would have come see you later,” Nell said, her usually sonorous voice raspy from yelling so much. “You always were just as impatient as I am.” She pushed her chair back, laboriously got to her feet, circumvented the desk, and took the rather baffled and utterly paralysed Illura into her arms. “I’ve missed you.”

This might be a cliché and a half, but Illura still felt lighter all of a sudden. She closed her eyes, leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder, and put her arms around her waist. “I missed you, too.”

“It’ll be all right. I don’t know how, yet, but it will.”

With a heavy heart, Illura peeled herself out of the embrace and wistfully returned Nell’s look. “I’m going to give myself up to the Warrior Guild.”

Nell looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “No. Absolutely not. They cannot be trusted to conduct a fair trial, and if you do get a military trial, the Law Council will almost certainly agree to banish you to the Phantom Zone. I will not allow that!”

Even now, as a grown woman, Illura had trouble keeping eye-contact with her mother when her mother got mad. It might be a little pathetic, but it was also pretty amusing, if she were to be honest. “Mother, I don’t intend to get tried by those zealots. I can’t tell you why I’m doing what I’m doing for your own protection, but you have to understand that I will go through with this no matter what you say.”

A few seconds ticked by during which Nell just stared at her daughter, clearly disbelieving, but then, her shoulders slumped. She blew out a heavy breath, pinched the bridge of her nose, and then threw up her hands in a very typical gesture of exasperated annoyance. “Just as stubborn as ever. Some things never change, do they? Illura, if you keep poking the _drang_ , it will end up eating you. Just…just stop it with the rebel nonsense. If you don’t, I won’t be able to help you anymore.”

This was…well, it was strangely sweet, wasn’t it? The fierce protectiveness? Illura couldn’t help but smile. She placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do – really, I do. But you can’t help me and you can’t dissuade me. No matter what you say, my mind’s made up. I’m doing this for the good of Krypton.”

“Funny. The Warrior Guild makes the same claim,” Nell returned, deadpan.

“The difference is that I and my people don’t want to force anyone to live the way we do, or to follow our beliefs. We just want the freedom to make our own destiny.”

“Opinions like that nearly led to our world’s destruction in the past. Have you forgotten all your history lessons?”

Illura crossed her arms and shrugged. “Please just stop preaching. You won’t be able to change my mind.”

“No, but I won’t let _them_ send you to the Phantom Zone. You can count on that.”

Again, Illura smiled. “Just as stubborn as ever. Some things never change, do they?”

 

* * *

 

 

**3** **There were flashes of consciousness periodically dragging Lara’s mind back to the surface.** Mostly, there was darkness. She was suddenly aware that something horrible had happened, that things were not as they were supposed to. Then, everything went dark again. This was better. The darkness was preferable to the alternative. However, one could not always get what one wanted. Consciousness sank its iron hooks into Lara’s mind and lugged her back to the world of the living.

It was dark. The air was dusty, hard to breathe – so hard to breathe. She was lying on something broken and ragged and inflexible, boring into her back. Breathing was…oh, oh. So difficult. Not good. Not enough. She tried to move and couldn’t. Ribs broken? Probably. Legs pinned under rock. Head on something so hard. Stickiness on her face, her hands, the back of her head.

_Blood_ , her mind explained, ever helpful. _I’m bleeding. Possibly dying. Broken bones_.

Pain, cold, nausea.

This was bad. What the-

Oh, yes. Explosion. The temple. They’d been working in the-

Cam-Larr. He was in the main nave. He must be-

Darkness.

Again, she came to, breathed, coughed, retched, flinched, whimpered. It was so dark! Should she try to move, to free herself, to make herself heard?

No. No way. No room to move. Moving would probably make everything worse, anyway.

She closed her eyes and tried to keep herself from slipping back into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

**4** **All the authorities in Kandor were in an uproar,** but none more so than the Warrior Guild at Tryon Hill. What the hell was going on? Faora had been slogging through reports of civil disobedience from across the globe when the news came in: an explosion at the excavation site had collapsed the entrance and caused horrible damage. At least three people had been buried under the rubble, including the artisan from Erkol, Cam-Larr, and Jor-El’s wife. Now, it wasn’t as if Faora cared much whether Lara Lor-Van lived or died, but bombs going off in what was supposed to be a controlled and secured site? Inconceivable. Unacceptable. Who had done this, and why? With what goal in mind? More than that, _how_? How was this at all possible?

Maybe this was an opportunity. No, chaos and destruction were not a good thing – of course not. However, the Law Council would now finally see that only with more powers granted to the Warrior Guild, Krypton could be saved from all enemies. Even if the Council remained squeamish and inefficient, the Warrior Guild would grab control and do what had to be done. Steps were already being taken. Soon, everything would be taken care of. Krypton would be safe again, her people protected.


End file.
